


No Matter How Small

by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (Paradoxe1914)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (in a long time), (seriously the slowest of burns), Alternate Universe - Future, Bitty and Jack slept together before graduation, Bitty has a kid, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Getting Back Together, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, They had a fight, They're meeting 8 years later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 69,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27631096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxe1914/pseuds/weneedtotalkaboutsherlock
Summary: "Elliot," Eric says, "this is Jack. Jack, this is Elliot."
Relationships: Alexei "Tater" Mashkov/Kent "Parse" Parson, Chris "Chowder" Chow/Caitlin Farmer, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Original Male Character(s), Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight
Comments: 334
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream a few months ago about Jack leaving one of his games and bumping into Bitty, eight years after they last spoke to each other, except that Bitty was holding a tiny kiddo. That dream became a fic prompt, and here I am, months later, with a 115k manifesto demonstrating why Jack Zimmermann absolutely needs to become a dad at some point in his life. 
> 
> This is a story about found family and growing up, finding yourself after college and accepting the small and bigger challenges of life — with an unambiguous happy ending.
> 
> You don't have to know about Check, Please! to read this fic. Basically, Eric/Bitty played hockey in college with Jack, who became an NHL player, while Bitty went on to work as a baker. :) This is them meeting eight years later!
> 
> This fic is not a WIP, and I am planning to update once per week, on Fridays. Biggest thanks to my wonderful beta, nautilicious, who makes this fic ten thousand times better. <333
> 
> Enjoy!

_A person's a person, no matter how small. — Dr Seuss_

_Tous les garçons et les filles de mon âge_   
_Font ensemble des projets d'avenir_   
_Tous les garçons et les filles de mon âge_   
_Savent très bien ce qu'aimer veut dire_

_— Françoise Hardy_

"Uncle Shitty!" Elli screams once the video connects.

He bounces on the stool and hits the back of his head against Eric's chest. "Just a second, sweetie, I'm trying to set you up."

Eric props up the tablet against the nearest bowl and when he leans in to see if everything is working, he meets Shitty's wide grin and smiles back. 

"Elli, my man!" Shitty says, once Eric has stepped aside. "I swear you're getting taller by the minute. How's it going, bud?"

Elli sticks his hands under his thighs and bounces a few times — he's bursting with excitement at the prospect of showing Shitty and Lardo his latest artistic project. Conventional greetings first, though: Eric raised him with manners. 

"Super-duper good! Daddy's making pie and yesterday we watched a movie that's called Frozen with a talking snowman!"

Yes, and Eric has had _Let It Go_ stuck in his head ever since.

"Whoa, really?"

"Where's Aunt Lardo?" Elli asks, cutting to the chase.

"Not very far," Shitty says, throwing a look over his shoulder. "She's just finishing something, you know she wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Good, 'cause I have a surprise!"

So, that took about 2.5 seconds.

"A surprise?!" Shitty asks, but Elli is already off the stool and running back to his bedroom.

Eric can't help but chuckle. Elli adores Shitty and Lardo — Shitty always talk to him like an adult and Lardo gives the best cuddles, or so Elli says. It's a bit unfortunate that Elli goes around calling his uncle and aunt Shitty and Lardo at preschool, but Eric has to pick his battles at some point. Parenting has been one hell of a learning curve — four years of it has taught him that he can't control everything. Slightly unconventional nicknames had been at the bottom of his list of worries by the time Elli learned to talk, and have remained there since.

He lets go of the dough and steps in front of the tablet. "Don't laugh," he whispers. "I know what it looks like, but that's not it."

Lord, Elli loves a lot of things: animals and Pokémons are on the top of his list, along with hockey and baking, two passions Eric does his best to share with him. Occasionally, the kid picks up new stuff, as kids do, but… but this is quite something.

"Me?" Shitty gasps, mock affronted. "I would never." 

Eric rolls his eyes and steps away, just as Elli runs back into the kitchen.

"Daddy!" he says, extending both arms. Eric picks him up, a sheet of paper hitting him in the face, and places him on the stool again. "Here," Elli says to Shitty. "For you!"

He opens the folded paper, places it in front of the screen, and rolls on his knees to see if Shitty can absorb the drawing in its glorious entirety.

It takes a moment for Shitty to react.

"That's for us? Thanks, bud! That's a sw'awesome looking…"

"Lighthouse!" Elli completes.

Eric can hear Shitty's thoughts reorganizing. All right, so his son's lighthouses are probably the most phallic drawings Eric's ever seen, and he has seen Lardo draw _actual_ penises. So what?

"A lighthouse!" Shitty repeats. "And all the yellow around it…?"

"That's the light that comes out of the tip! And it has grey stone and the sea around it and the birds in the sky, too."

"Terrific," Shitty laughs. "Lardo, come and see what Elli drew for us," he calls over his shoulder.

Done with the dough, Eric sets it aside, washes his hands, and when he looks back at the tablet, Lardo has appeared on the screen. At six-and-a-half months, she's not supposed to be working at this point, but the flickers of paint on her half-attached overalls say otherwise.

"Aunt Lardo!" 

"Hello, little one." Her breath is short and it takes her a few seconds to sit down in front of the screen.

Eric goes to open the fridge, yet he very clearly hears the, "You're so big," Elli lets out.

"Elliot!"

"Don't bother, Bits," Lardo laughs. "And I'm supposed to get bigger, can you imagine?"

"What fruit is it now?"

Lardo shoots Shitty a look and smiles. "Should be around the size of a pineapple, now."

"Daddy!" Elli looks up. "You hear? Uncle Shitty and Aunt Lardo's baby is like a _pinpple_ big now!"

"Yeah, I heard. Big baby, huh?"

"I was like a _pinpple_ too?"

Eric's heart squeezes in his chest. "You sure were, sweetheart."

"So…" Shitty starts, and Eric wants to sigh. He knows that tone. "Have you thought about what we discussed last night?"

"Lord, I don't know, Shits."

"C'mon, bro, how long it's been since you went to a proper game? It'll be fun!"

"Leave him alone," Lardo says, "if he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to." 

Elli's eyes are set on him, already imploring even though he has no idea what they're talking about. "A game, Daddy?"

He groans, rubbing at the back of his neck. Shitty called him yesterday about two tickets he's received from Bob and Alicia Zimmermann: they had a last-minute change of plans and couldn't fly in, and it's only later that Shitty realized that he had something with Lardo on the same night. Or at least, that's what he says — it might still be a ploy to get Eric to that game.

They're amazing seats, right in front of the ice, and if Elli loves watching hockey on the television, and he's never been to a real game before. But it's the _Falconers_ , and Eric isn't sure if he can do that. He hasn't seen Jack Zimmermann since Jack slammed the door to his Haus bedroom the morning of his graduation, leaving Eric alone in his bed, angry and brokenhearted, and never came back.

It's not like he's not blameless either, but… To see Jack again? After eight years? 

"Yeah, a hockey game, sweetie," he says, slowly.

Elli bounces on his stool. "Can we go? Please? Please, please, please!" 

Eric glances at Shitty and that grin of his. "I know what you're doing, Shitty Knight."

"And it's working."

Elli tugs at his sleeve. "Daddy? What teams?"

"The Falconers against the Leafs, right?" he asks, and Shitty nods.

"Oh." Elli deflates instantly. "No Aces?"

If someone had told Eric, eight years ago, that Kent Parson would feature more prominently in his life than Jack Zimmermann, he would have laughed. The Aces are, for unknown reasons, Elli's favorite team, which saves Eric quite some trouble — they don't play that often against the Falconers.

"No, not this time," he says. "But we can stay home and watch the Aces on TV if you prefer."

Without much surprise, Elli shakes his head. "No! Real game!"

"All right. You win," he tells Shitty, with a mild glare.

"Great, that's settled, then," Lardo says. "Shits will send you the tickets. Go back to your pie and let us talk to our nephew a bit."

"How did you—" he starts, but before he can finish, the oven's timer rings. "Right. Have fun, y'all."

Elli wiggles on his stool, and looks back at the tablet. "Aunt Lardo. Have you ever go to a lighthouse?"

* 

Even though they make it early to the arena, there's enough of a gathering around the ticket booths to make an impression on Elli, who requests being picked up. Eric holds him tight for the rest of the way to their seats. Fans are already causing a raucous, showing off their team's paraphernalia. There are a lot of men drinking beer, getting pumped up, and shouting profanities — he really wants to cover Elli's ears, right now.

"Daddy? What this m'sser says about Smith's mama?"

"Ugh, don't listen to that, sweetie. Let's find our seats."

He can only hope they'll get seat neighbors that will behave throughout the game. And that there won't be too much violence on the side. And that no one will get injured—

Oh lord, and to say _his_ mama was worried when he got his place in SMH. It's like another life altogether.

A few minutes later, they're sitting front row, the ice in front of them, not too far from the goals. The Zimmermann's original tickets were family suite, but Shitty had them switched for something a bit more exciting. Of course.

"Daddy! We can see everything! We can see the ice and the goals and the lines and the big point box and I bet the puck, too!"

He should be thankful — lord, Elli is ecstatic, smearing his little hands over the plastic glass and putting prints everywhere — but he can't quite quiet down the uneasiness that has settled like a knot in his throat.

"Sorry it's not the Aces, sweetheart."

"'S’okay, the Falconers are cool, too."

"What about the Leafs?"

Elli shrugs as if he couldn't care less, and Eric laughs. Bless his heart, the boy spends too much time with Shitty.

They talk about hockey for a bit, but there isn't much to explain that the kid doesn't know. They watch a lot together, Elli has hockey nights with Shitty, and Chowder keeps him updated on the Sharks from the other side of the continent. Whenever they call Ransom and Holster, they always make a point of explaining a specific hockey concept to Elli. It's become their thing, now, because Elli always asks about "hockey stuff with Uncle Ransom and Uncle Holster" when they haven't called in a few weeks.

So, Eric shouldn't be surprised — he really shouldn't be surprised that when the teams make it on the ice, back after their warmups, Elli points at the two captains on center ice and says, "That's Jack Zimmermann."

Eric gapes. "How do you know that?"

Elli looks at him like he's just hit his head. "Daddy, he's won three Stanley cups."

"And you've seen him play before?" Because they sure as hell haven't been watching the Falcs at home.

"Yeah! Uncle Shitty likes the Falcs."

"Of course he does," Eric sighs, but he can't blame the man either. 

It's anyone's fault, it should be his: nobody stays hung up on a crush eight years after the break-up. It wasn't even a break-up, just two friends who hooked up once, had a fight, and then never spoke again.

Eric lost a friend that day, his _best friend_. It hadn't even been his decision — Jack left and cut all ties. It made sense for Eric to follow suit: no asking their mutual friends about Jack, no Falcs games, not even on TV, not even when they win the Cup. Nothing. 

He can't recall the day it stopped hurting, but it must have been between two diaper changes, a crying toddler in his arms, and dried milk on the soft skin of his wrist.

No, nothing in Eric's life could ever point to the fact that he went to college and befriended a now three-times Stanley Cup champion. Nothing apart from an old signed Falcs' jersey hanging at the back of his closet and a five-year-old article saved in his favorites, which reads _JACK ZIMMERMANN COMES OUT_.

"That's Martin Diouf," Elli says, as he points at the Leafs' captain.

"What position?"

"Forward left."

He ruffles Elli's hair, which makes Elli laugh. "Goodness gracious, you're a clever boy."

"When's starting?"

"Soon, sweetheart, look, they're getting ready now." 

Elli cranes his neck, trying to see better. "Was it like that when you played?"

"A bit," Eric says. "Though we played in smaller arenas and there weren't as many people in the crowd."

"And Uncle Shitty was there?" 

Eric smiles. "Yes, and Aunt Lardo, too."

"Daddy, it's starting!" 

Elli bounces on his seat, just as the rest of the crowd erupts in a cacophony of noise as Jack wins the face-off. Some things never change.

The rest of the game passes in a blur. At some point, Eric places Elli on his knees, because it's easier for him to see, even though it cuts the circulation in his legs as Elli keeps bouncing. Eric takes the time to explain what's happening on the ice, using the voice of an overly enthusiastic commentator as he whispers in Elli's ear.

"Like on TV, Daddy!"

What he hadn't anticipated is that watching Jack on the ice fills him with something akin to… joy. Eric hasn't played much since college, but he can recognize good hockey, and what they're witnessing from Jack tonight is _damn_ good hockey. It's been eight years and his style has evolved since then, but it doesn't change the fact that Eric has played with him. He knows Jack. He can read him, and his game, as well as he could all those years ago.

"Zimmermann's going for it," he says into Elli's ear, and Elli giggles.

"No way! He gonna pass to that guy."

"I'm telling you he's going for it," Eric says, and Jack does, indeed, go for it. 

It's a _beaut_ of a slap shot, as Shitty would say, not the most technical of goals, but Jack nets it without difficulty. The home crowd goes wild and Elli laughs, his head bumping against Eric's chest.

"Again! Again!"

"All right, sweetie."

He keeps up with the commentary, but the game starts to grow tense: the two teams are fighting hard for it, and the end of the first period feels like a much-needed break. He can only imagine.

The crowd is getting loud by the start of the second period, and Eric winces at the smell of spilled beer. It doesn't seem to bother Elli, whose eyes are riveted on the game: Jack's got the puck again, and is steering it towards the goals, skating at high speed in their general direction, an opponent close behind. 

He knows it's going to happen half-a-second before it does: his heart sinks in his chest, and like all those years ago, his first instinct is to close his eyes and curls up — around Elli, this time. Jack's shoulder, under the weight of the other player, hits the glass so hard that it trembles. There are gasps and shouts and Eric squeezes Elli against his chest, a hand over his head in case the plastic breaks.

It does not. Jack shakes off his opponent, who skates back in the game with the puck, the crowd on its feet and calling names. 

Eric's throat goes dry. Jack is mere inches away from him, unaware of his presence. Eric can see the details of his face, the blue of his eyes, as Jack looks up again, over his shoulder.

For a single second, their gazes meet.

Jack's lower lip drops and a wrinkle appears between his eyebrows, a wrinkle that means _I don't understand_. 

The referee whistles and the moment is gone. Jack skates away, not before throwing another look over his shoulder as if wanting to confirm that what he saw was real.

Eric can't do anything but stare at him.

Elli's voice is the first thing that puts order back in his mind. "Daddy," he sniffs, his voice breaking midway through the word.

Shit. "Whoa, that was a big check, huh?" he says, trying to sound somewhat cheery as he bounces Elli up and down with his knee. "Hey, _hey_. Sweetheart. It's okay. We're fine."

Tears well up in Elli's eyes and Eric kisses his head, passing a thumb over that soft, round cheek, before he turns Elli back towards the ice. "Look, they're playing again."

Elli sniffs once more, but it only takes for a Leaf player to get close to the Falconer goalie for him to ask Eric to start commentating again. Bless children and their ability to stay in the present.

*

It's late when the Falconers win, 5-2, and even though Elli is pumping his tiny fist up in the air when they do, he's going to crash the minute they leave the arena. Eric's going have a cranky kid on his hands tomorrow.

The stars of the game are announced, and Jack comes back on the ice, along with a Leaf rookie with impressive speed, and Mashkov, a Russian giant that made headlines on the very same day Jack came out, announcing that Mashkov was dating Kent Parson. How _that_ came to be, Eric has no idea, but they've been together for five years now. 

He takes his time zipping Elli back into his coat since the bus isn't coming for another twenty minutes. It's a bit like trying to subdue a wild cat into taking a bath, but Elli's not to blame. It's his first game after all.

"Did you have fun?" Eric asks, with a grin.

"Oh yeah, when he did that with his stick," Elli says, and mimes the motion of a slap shot, "that was sw'awesome!" 

Eric laughs. "You spend too much time with your uncle, young man. But I'm glad you had fun. We're going to catch our bus now, okay?"

It isn't that easy: once they're in the not-so-busy-anymore main hall, Eric checks his phone again, just to see that they've missed the bus. The next one is in half an hour, but Elli is starting to fall asleep on his shoulder.

He doesn't have the stroller with him so he carries Elli to the front of the closed souvenir shop, dramatic lights showing off the Falcs' memorabilia.

"If you could choose a jersey," he asks, pointing at the blue jersey lined up above their heads, "which one would it be?"

"Number 90," Elli says, with a yawn.

Lord, this boy is single-minded. "There's no number 90 in the Falconers, sweetheart. Look, they have caps too, and blankets."

Elli smears his finger over the glass, over a brown teddy bear wearing a blue jersey. "I want that one."

"Bittle?"

He turns on his heels and finds himself in front of Jack Zimmermann, freshly out of the shower, hair not completely dry and looking dead gorgeous in his dark press suit.

He swallows. 

"Eric—" Jack winces and takes a step closer. "Bittle. I didn't know you'd be here tonight."

"Hi, Jack. Uh— Shitty and Lardo gave us their tickets, they had something else tonight, unfortunately. Actually, those were your parents', right? Please thank them for us," he adds with a smile, as he glances back at Elli.

"For sure." Jack hesitates for a moment, before he crouches slightly, to get to Elli's height. "Hi, there."

Eric hikes Elli higher up on his hip. "Why don't you introduce yourself, sweetheart?"

At his words, Elli buries himself against Eric's shoulder. It's the kind of behavior Suzanne wouldn't have accepted when Eric was young, but he has never been able to apply the same rules to Elli. Jack is tall, a stranger, and an NHL star. The sudden shyness is understandable.

It doesn't bother Jack too much, who smiles at Elli. "That's okay, you don't have to if you don't want."

Jack is good with kids. Of course, Jack is good with kids. 

"Elliot," Eric says instead, "this is Jack. Jack, this is Elliot."

"I'm _Elli_. And I'm four!" he adds, as if it is vital information Jack must know.

Jack nods along, looking impressed. "Four? That's a big number. It's great to meet you, Elli. Tell me, do you play hockey?"

Elli shakes his head.

"We went a few times," Eric explains, "but I think we prefer watching hockey on TV, right?"

The truth is that skating gear is pricey, and Elli grows fast. They haven't been able to go skating as much as Eric would like after Elli outgrew his first pair of skates. It broke his heart a bit, but now Elli's got swimming, art, and ballet, and he's a busy kid all-round. 

"That's cool," Jack says. "Who's your favorite player?"

Oh lord. Here we go.

Elli squirms, and mumbles a quick, "Kmmmson," one finger stuck in his mouth.

"Euh, sorry, I didn't catch that?"

He takes his finger out of his mouth before he sputters a small, "Kent Parson."

It's irony upon irony, but Jack throws his head back and laughs so good-naturedly that Eric chuckles along. He forms a silent sorry on his lips the second Jack's glistening eyes are on him again.

"You've got good taste, kiddo," Jack tells Elli, and from his tone, he must really mean it. "Did you enjoy the game?" he asks, but this time he steers the question towards Eric.

"Of course!" It sounds like he means it, and he's glad. He does, he does. But it wasn't easy to get to the game in the first place — he would have flaked if it hadn't meant disappointing Elli. "Are you okay, though? That was a pretty big check."

Jack passes a hand over his shoulder and stretches it a bit. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Sorry for the scare. You know how it is, more fear than harm, in the end."

"Lord knows, yes," he snorts.

Elli tugs at the collar of his coat. "Daddy?" 

"Your dad and I used to play hockey together," Jack explains. "When we were at school." 

Elli looks at him, and then back at Eric, disbelief written all over his face. "You?" he gasps. 

Eric grins. "I did tell you that I played hockey."

"With Uncle Shitty and Aunt Lardo and Uncle Ransom and Uncle Holster and Uncle Chowder," Elli says.

Eric glances at Jack. "Yeah, Jack was there too." 

"Him?" Elli points at Jack, which Eric keeps saying is _not very polite_. "But you're tiny!" 

"Hey!"

"He was not the biggest player on the ice," Jack says, "but he sure was the fastest." 

At that, Elli stares at Eric with some kind of renewed adoration in his eyes. "No way!" 

"I'm telling you."

"That's how you knew, Daddy," Elli says, mid-yawn, as he drops his head against Eric's shoulder, "when you said Number 1 was going for it in the first period."

Jack throws him a look, both curious and surprised.

Eric smiles at Elli. "Yeah, that's how I knew."

When he looks back at Jack, there is something soft in the way he smiles at him. It doesn't last: it gets replaced right away by Jack's Captain Face.

"Listen, Bittle… I was wondering if you'd like to get coffee, sometime? I never, uh, properly apologized for what happened back then. I understand if you'd prefer not to, of course—"

"Sure," he says, before he can stop himself.

This is the kind of thing he had both dreams and nightmares about. He never thought he could face Jack again, not when Jack has so clearly moved on, not when Jack is an NHL superstar who comes back at night to his luxury apartment where his partner waits for him. Not that the media ever confirmed anything more than rumors, but Jack is the type to keep that kind of stuff private.

No, he never thought he could face Jack again, not when he's still heartbroken over what happened years ago. Not when he's only the author of one semi-successful and one rather disastrous cookbook. Not when he only has a part-time baking job to cover the rest of his monthly budget, and not when he doesn't have anyone waiting for him at home — his latest relationship had been before Elli, years ago.

He's not jealous — he loves his life, his family, his friends, his projects — but their lives have diverged, have taken such different paths that it seems difficult to reconcile them now. 

But accepting Jack's offer might make him hope that Jack would be in his life again. That they could be friends once more. He's missed that. Good lord, he's missed that so much.

"Oh, yeah?" Jack asks, sounding a bit surprised. 

"Yes, of course. My number hasn't changed, by the way. If you want to…"

"Okay, yeah, sure, I'll text you sometime." 

Ah, Jack, the pinnacle of casual. 

Eric grins at him. "Good." He glances down at his phone. His bus is arriving in five. "We have to go, actually, we're a bit late."

"Of course. You have a lift? Your partner's not into hockey, eh?"

Oh. Uhm. "No, we're catching the bus," he says. "And it's just us. I mean, not only at the game tonight— there's no partner."

He winces. He's sure put his foot in his mouth, there.

"Okay, all right." Jack is sporting his usual neutral expression. "I can give you a ride if you want."

"No, it's fine, really. The bus always knocks this one out," he says, with a nod towards Elli's head, who's already half-asleep, slung over his shoulder.

"All right," Jack says, and Eric is slightly surprised he isn't insisting. "If you're sure. Good night, then."

"Good night, Jack." 

"It was… great to see you." 

"You too." 

Just as Eric starts walking away, Jack calls after him. "I'll text you!" 

"You do that!" he laughs, as he pushes the door towards the exit, making Elli squirm from the noise.

He can breathe again once he's sitting down in the bus, looking over the blur of lights as they travel through the city, Elli sleeping against his chest.

He thought that meeting Jack again would give him confirmation that he is not in love with him anymore.

That couldn't be further from the truth.

Now that he's seen him again, he knows. It all came back in a rush the moment Jack stepped up to them: Eric still loves him. Perhaps even more profoundly than he did back then, the years stripping that feeling to its barest form. A quiet undercurrent running through his soul, never to leave. It's not the bumbling excitement that used to build up when Jack would tell him about saving the Haus from the football team, it's not the heat that would rise to his face when Jack would practice-check him into the boards.

No, it feels like a statement: _I loved you eight years ago, I love you today, and I will love you tomorrow_. And it doesn't feel unhappy. It feels irrevocably _there_ , on the solid ground of what he can now recognize as his mended heart. It feels like _I am happy that you are happy_.

It feels like coming to terms.

Finally.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Elli is cranky the whole day after the game. No surprise there, but it's a relief when Eric shuts Elli's door behind him that night. He always tries to do his best and knows that a majority of first-time parents are improvising just as he is, but on days like these, parenting feels more like a failure than anything else.

He sits down at the kitchen island, pours himself a glass of wine, and takes his phone out of his pocket. He received a text from Jack earlier today, but he had a yelling four-year old on his hands at the time and hasn't answered yet.

_Jack: Hey, Bittle. Still on for that coffee?_

_Jack: This is Jack, by the way._

Eric chuckles. As if anyone else would call him Bittle by text.

Jack's still in his contacts, since Eric never felt the courage to delete his number, with a silly picture of him rolling his eyes in the kitchen Haus attached to it. If he thought that Jack hadn't changed a lot, seeing him so young in that picture makes his heart clench in his chest.

At least none of their old messages are on his phone. He's not sure he would be able to answer Jack's text if they followed the last one they exchanged eight years ago. ( _Bitty: Where are you? Jack: Upstairs. Jack: Waiting for you.)_

He bites on his lip, and slowly types out an answer.

_Bitty: Hey._ 😊 _Sure, when are you free?_

He sends the message and a few seconds later, ellipsis appears at the bottom of the screen. That's… surprising. Jack had never been that fast at answering his phone.

_Jack: We're flying out tonight. Ottawa._

_Jack: Is Wednesday good?_

Eric grins at the screen. That boy is trying _so_ hard.

_Bitty: Wednesday's great!_

_Jack: What time are you done with work?_

_Bitty: I'm working from home, actually. I'm free in the afternoon, but I gotta pick Elli from school at 3._

_Jack: Is 1:30 good?_

_Bitty: Sure! Have you ever been to Nelly's?_

_Bitty: Unless you had another idea._

He sends that last text quickly, considering that Jack might already have a place in mind — something more private, where he won't get recognized, or, at least, bothered too much.

Before he can overthink this, his phone buzzes in his hand.

_Jack: Sounds great._

_Bitty: All right, then. I'll meet you there._ 😊 _And Jack? There's no need for you to apologize, you know._

The answer takes a minute to come.

_Jack: I still want to talk. Is that okay?_

Oh, lord.

_Bitty: Of course that's okay. See you then. And good luck tonight!_ 🏒🏒

_Jack: Thank you_

It's pretty clear that the conversation is over, so he stands up, picks his glass of wine, and selects another contact on his phone.

Lardo answers on the second ring. "Bitty? What's up?"

He sighs, and the tension melts right away from his shoulders. "Just put Mr Cranky to bed. I love him to death, but there are days when I don't know how I manage."

"Stop making it sound so scary," Lardo says, teasing.

"Too late to go back now, girl," he says, just to hear her snort.

"So," Lardo starts, with a tone that means _business_. "You went to the game."

"Yes."

" _And_?"

He groans and drops on the couch. "The weirdest thing happened."

"Oh my god."

"Yeah."

"Oh my god, Bitty," Lardo repeats. "Jack?"

"Yeah," he sighs.

"What?" Lardo urges him. "You two hooked up?"

"Oh my god, Lardo!"

"Just checking, I guess."

"I'm not _that_ dumb."

"Around Jack?"

He groans. She might have a point there. "No, goodness, Elli was there. They, uh, they met. And yeah, Elli might have told him Parson's his favorite player?"

"Shit!" Lardo laughs. "I would have paid to see his face."

"He… He laughed, actually? He was really cool about it."

"It's Jack and kids, Bits, what did you expect?"

"I don't know." He pauses. "So… Jack and I are getting coffee, later this week."

It takes Lardo a moment to answer. "Holy fuck, bro. Really? How do you feel about that?"

He takes a sip of wine. "I’m not sure. He said he wants to apologize?"

"Really? Just like that, after eight years?"

She sounds more careful than doubtful — Lardo's always been on his side, from the start, just as he knows that Shitty kept in close contact with Jack. Not that he always supported Jack's decision: Shitty had a stern conversation with him at some point, as Lardo reported to Eric, but whatever had been said hadn't led to a positive outcome. For the past few years, Shitty and Lardo have been juggling both friendships, two circles that never overlapped. In any case, he's glad they stuck with him through the years.

"I mean," Eric says. "Now's better than never, right? We might could be friends again. I don't know."

"Do you want that? To be friends with him?"

"Yes," he says, truthfully. "Of course I want that. Goodness, we'd been friends for a year before— yeah. I miss that."

A pause. "And what about being… more than friends?"

"Larissa Duan! I went down that road nine years ago, it's a potholed dead end, and I'm not getting back on it again!"

"I bet it did have some nice holes, though."

"No comment," he laughs. "So, tell me, how's the baby doing?"

She groans. "The one I'm carrying or the true baby in the house?" she asks, and it's a well-deserved break from his problems to hear her complain about Shitty making the vile mistake of not including pickles in her PB&J this morning.

*

It's 1:27 when Eric pushes the door to Nelly's, breathing hard. Three minutes early is ten minutes late in his book, but his agent monopolized him all morning about a jam recipe and he missed the bus he had planned on taking.

He glances around the shop and his eyes land on Jack, sitting in the far corner of the room, wearing a snapback and poking at the screen of his phone. His shoulders are tense, but that's to be expected.

"Hey, Jack," he says, as he pulls out a chair and sits down in front of him.

Jack looks up and smiles. "Hey."

"Congrats on your win in Ottawa!"

"Thanks. We were well-prepared and it paid off. The Senators aren't having the best season, but they fought hard and it was a close call in the end."

Eric smiles. He's even missed press-talk Jack.

"Anyway," Jack says, shaking his head. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," he laughs. "It's been a whirlwind of a day, though. I'm glad to have a minute to sit down. And you?"

"Good, thanks. Before I forget…" Jack leans down to take something out of his bag and places a Falconer teddy bear on the table between them. "For Elli."

It's the same one Elli was pointing at seconds before Jack made himself known to them. "Aw, you didn't have to!"

"It's no problem at all."

"He's gonna love it," Eric says. Elli loves all animals and teddies — he'll be thrilled to add it to his collection.

Jack's lips stretch into a half-smile. "He's a great kid."

"He is! Thank you," he adds, with sincerity, even though it feels like they've been thanking each other back and forth for the last two minutes.

They smile at each other for a few, long seconds, before Jack looks down at the table. "So, listen—"

It's about then that the waitress steps up to their table, and they order coffee awkwardly before the waitress goes back to the counter.

"Bittle," Jack finally says. "I want to apologize."

Eric swallows. He wants to look away and pretend nothing ever went wrong between them. They could go back to talking about Elli, or baking, or hockey — lord knows they would never be able to get to the bottom of a subject like _hockey_. Anything else than what happened at Samwell all those years ago. Just… anything else. But they’re adults now, and with it comes the responsibility to tackle things the mature way, however much Eric would like to run away from it. 

He cocks his head to the side and tries to smile. "It's fine, Jack, really."

"No. No, it's not. Let me, okay?"

Under his snapback, Jack's eyes are pleading. Eric nods, his throat tight.

The conversation stops once more as their coffees arrive, and they both take a moment to sip at their cups.

"I'm an asshole,” Jack starts. “I mean, you already knew that back then, but the way I acted before graduation… I reached new heights. I panicked. Shit," he chuckles, unhappily. "Sorry."

Eric frowns. "You panicked?"

He closes his eyes for a second and sees it all again: Jack throwing his rumpled shirt on his back and buttoning it furiously, while Eric was still tangled in the bedsheets. Shouting at each other, until Eric made a frustrated sound and curled right back up in bed, Jack slamming the door behind him.

It was clear, even back then, that Jack had been pushing him away, but his cold words weren't something Eric had associated with _panic_.

"Yeah," Jack says, staring at his coffee. "I thought it was pretty obvious. I couldn't handle it, the idea of us, being together. It felt… too good to be true, to be honest. Good things don't usually work out for me."

Eric closes his eyes and breathes. He swore to himself he wouldn't cry about this. So, the reason it didn't work out is that Jack's anxiety convinced him they were doomed to fail. Because Jack thought they were _too good to be true_. Fuck.

"I should have known," he whispers, mostly to himself. 

He’d known Jack had anxiety issues. Why didn’t he get that, at the time? He’d been too wrapped up in his own mind, thinking that Jack didn’t _really_ want this with him. He should have put two and two together. He really should have — they would have talked about it, Eric would have reassured him, and they wouldn’t be here today, talking like near-strangers. 

"No," Jack says, leaning in. "This isn't your fault. It's not your job to manage my feelings, my anxiety. That's all on me. And it's definitely not an excuse for the way I acted. I'm so sorry."

Eric sniffs. "I'm not exactly blameless either." He remembers too well the words he said back then, frustrated and scared. "We sabotaged ourselves, didn't we?"

"Yeah. The whole coming out thing…"

Eric winces. He definitely had not helped with that part. ( _"So, what, you're just going to stay in the closet forever? Because hockey's worth it? More than who you are, more than what you feel? Don't you see how many levels of wrong that is?!" — "Don't come to me talking about coming out when you're not even out to your parents, Bittle!"_ )

"I freaked out," Jack continues. "I really wanted to go out there and prove myself before any of these guys could judge me for my sexuality. At that time, I didn't see any possibility of coming out, and I guess that made me bitter. I didn't want to impose that on you. You shouldn't have had to be my secret. No one should."

Jack's hand is contracted into a fist on the table. Eric reaches for it and covers it with his own. "I would have waited, you know. I would have. One year, two years, maybe three," he adds, eyes welling up, knowing full well that Jack came out in his third year in the NHL.

Jack shakes his head. "You deserved better. You still had two years of college left, while I would have been all over the country. You deserved a normal college experience, with a normal college boyfriend, who could be there for you, be with you—"

His voice breaks.

"Jack," Eric says, softly. "Did you ever think about asking me what I wanted?"

Jack looks up. "I'm sorry. I was pretty horrible at the whole relationship thing."

"You weren't the only one," Eric chuckles. "I shouldn't have pushed you. Coming out is a pretty big decision that you make for yourself, not because you're with somebody."

"Shit, Bittle, the stuff I said back then… If I could take it back, I would. In an instant. I regretted it every day since then."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I tried, I guess. Shitty made it pretty clear that you weren't interested in talking to me. He said to back off for a while."

"He didn't mean _eight years_!" Eric laughs wetly, and even Jack cracks a smile.

It breaks the tension between them, but the laughter exacerbates his tears, and it takes him a moment to recover. He takes his hand away from Jack's and reaches for a wipe cloth from his bag to blow his nose.

"Lord, sorry, I'm such a mess."

"No, it's fine. Really."

Eric pads at his eyes with the napkin, bunches it up, and sets it aside. At least his hands aren't trembling when he brings his cup to his lips.

"In retrospect," he sighs, "we would probably have been horrible together, back then."

Considering the way he kept avoiding conflict to the point of being unhappy with his first few boyfriends, he's not sure it would have worked out with Jack. Especially an anxious Jack experiencing his first NHL season. It’s a bitter truth, but it’s not like he can lose himself in the what-ifs either. Being with Jack probably wouldn’t have put him on Elli’s path, and that is one thing he could never regret. He can only hope Jack and him can move on, now, and get to be friends again.

Jack smiles over the rim of his cup. "I didn't dare to say, but I think so, too. Neither of us was ready at the time, eh? Fuck, especially not me."

Eric huffs. Sounds like Jack has figured out a few things as well since Samwell.

"This is very late," Jack says, "but congrats on winning the Frozen Four."

These must be the right words because they make Eric's chest fill with warmth. Getting over Jack hadn't been easy, but Eric had to be there for his team, and it was what helped him through those two final years at Samwell.

"I still can't believe I made Captain!"

"C'mon, you were one of the best players out there, and you were holding that team together long before you got the C."

Heat rises to his face. "Well, I should congratulate you on the _three Stanley Cups_ ," he whispers, just in case anyone nearby is listening. They haven't been bothered yet by fans and he'd rather keep it that way.

Jack's face lights up, and they start talking about hockey. It's like old times, a safe compromise that steers them away from emotional topics. By the time they're both done with their coffees, Eric looks down at his phone, and swears.

"Everything all right?" Jack asks.

"Ugh, I just missed my bus."

It's 2:35, and if he wants to make it in time to Elli's preschool he's going to have to take another route, but looking at the bus schedule, he’ll probably end up being a few minutes late anyway.

"I could give you a ride."

He stares at Jack. "Really?"

"Yeah, for sure. I don't have to be anywhere any time soon, so…"

Eric bites on his lower lip, and considers. He's fine with taking the bus, but he doesn't want Elli to worry if he's late, even though he knows he's in Anika's good hands.

"If you’re sure you don't mind, then… I would appreciate it, yes."

Jack insists on getting the check, and just as they're about to leave, he slips a pair of sunglasses on while Eric grabs the Falconer teddy bear.

It doesn't deter a couple of fans from recognizing Jack as they walk towards his car, but Jack manages to plead an appointment and they let them go after one or two autographs. Jack's tone is kind and not as annoyed as it was back when he was dealing with fans at Samwell, but still not entirely casual. If there's a world of difference between Jack now and then, he's still fundamentally the same, and it makes Eric smile.

Thinking about it now, it's funny how many times he thought of himself as an adult: when he turned twenty-one, when he won the NCAA, when he graduated from Samwell. And then, the years passed too fast to look back, focusing on Elli, and Eric grew up somewhere in there. Jack did too.

"Hey, sorry about that," Jack whispers. He leans into him as they're walking side by side, and points at a sleek, black Tesla parked between two cars. "Here."

Eric's eyes widen. He was kind of expecting a truck.

"What?" Jack says, catching the expression on his face. "We fly around so much I figured I could do my part and cut down on gas."

Eric huffs a laugh and sits down in the car. All right. He knows next to nothing about cars, but this must be the nicest Tesla model out there. He feels slightly out of place, sitting on the fancy black leather.

He gives Jack directions, but silence settles between them when they reach the highway.

"Can I ask you something?” Eric says. “You don't have to answer, if you don’t want to.”

"Shoot anyway."

He bites on his lower lip. "What made you decide to come out?"

He glances at Jack, wondering if his question will be met with a rebuttal, but Jack only cocks his head to the side. "Ah. Euh, nothing in particular? The Falcs knew already, and I was planning on it with PR and management for some time. And then… I woke up one morning and decided I’d had enough."

He remembers the tweet (goodness, Jack Zimmermann on Twitter!) that started it all. It was on every news website within minutes, and even Shitty had broken his golden rule of don't-talk-to-Bitty-about-Jack by texting him the second it was out.

"PR gave me hell," Jack chuckles, "because they had to scramble to release a statement and everything, but yeah, I don't regret it."

"Oh," Eric lets out. "I thought that…"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know, I thought that you might have been with someone at the time and… I mean, you never said anything about…" Ugh, he doesn't even know what he's trying to say.

"No, not back then," Jack explains. "Not now, either. There's been… uh, people, but yeah. I did it for myself. The closet gets kind of boring, after a while," he adds with a smile.

"I'm glad it went well."

"Yeah, me too. You can say that you told me so."

Eric gasps. "I would never!"

He lets his head fall back against the seat, a comfortable silence between them before he turns his head to get a better look at Jack, finally relaxed behind the wheel. 

He hasn't changed much — twenty-five to thirty-two can make a big difference when you're playing professional hockey, but Jack seems to be holding up. No major injuries or Eric would have heard. Even Jack’s nose looks fine — maybe a bit crooked to the side, but it's barely visible, just like the few soft-grey hairs around his ears that Eric can see now that he's this close. Does Bob Zimmermann dye his hair? The thought makes him smile.

The car comes to a stop, and Jack turns his head. For a second, Eric thinks he's going to say something, but Jack only looks back at him.

A moment passes, and another.

Jack clears his throat. "I think we're here."

Eric nearly jumps out of his seat, and peeks out of the window. "That's it! And just in time," he adds, as he checks his phone. "Thank you so much!"

"Do you need a ride back home? It's no trouble, really."

"Thank you, Jack, but it's fine. Elli likes taking the bus." Mostly because he can press the bell button that makes the bus stop.

"All right." Jack hesitates. "Listen, Bittle, can we do this again? Or not, if you'd rather—"

"No, that would be lovely!"

"All right, then."

Jack's smile is a small one, and Eric can see the way his shoulders drop with relief.

"Oh, c'mere you," he laughs, and reaches for him over the armrest.

It's a bit awkward at first, but once he's got his arms around Jack, it's like Jack is melting against him. He allows himself to hold him for a few seconds, but the moment is gone the instant he lets go.

They exchange quick goodbyes, and Eric knows he's lingering, halfway outside the car, as the parents and kids are starting to come out of the school. Elli is waiting, but Eric doesn't want this to be over yet. Although, according to Jack, it doesn't have to be.

"Okay, bye," he says, finally, and steps on the sidewalk.

"Bittle? Don't forget your protein!" Jack calls, just before he drives off, leaving Eric laughing.

_Bitch, you did not._

*

"Does it have a name, yet?" Eric asks, raising his voice so that Elli can hear him from the kitchen.

He picks two gummy vitamins from the jar, fills a small glass of water, and walks back to Elli's bedroom.

On Elli's bed, all of his stuffed animals are set in a precise order Eric has long abandoned trying to understand, but tonight, the lucky one who gets to sleep under Elli's arm is the Falcs teddy bear.

"Is it really really from Jack Zimmermann, Daddy?"

Eric laughs and sets the glass down on the nightstand. "Yes, it is."

"You really was his friend at school?"

" _Were_ ," he corrects. "And yes, I was."

"That's so cool!" Elli lifts the bear to his face and gives it a shake. "I'm gonna call 'im Number One! Because number one Jack Zimmermann is the best!"

It doesn't take much for a boy to change allegiance. "What about Parson?" Eric asks.

Elli shrugs. "I mean Number One is the best on his team."

Ah. So not _that_ big of a change.

Elli pulls the bear to his chest, and squeezes hard, closing his eyes. Eric chuckles, and ruffles through Elli's brown hair with one hand. That boy needs a haircut.

"All right, Elli, vitamin time, now."

Elli extends his hand, palm up, and Eric hands him the vitamins.

Elli takes a look at the vitamin and laughs. "Daddy, you're silly! They can't be the same color!"

Damn. He's forgotten about the Very Serious Vitamin Rules for a moment. "Maybe you could make an exception for tonight, sweetheart?"

Elli crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.

With a sigh, Eric goes back to the kitchen, opens the vitamin jar, and makes sure now that the two small animals aren't the same color.

He returns to Elli's room and watches as Elli inspects the orange lion closely and what looks like a blue antelope.

"But the lion is going to eat the antelope!"

"I'm pretty sure you're the one who is supposed to do the eating, Elliot."

Elli shakes his head. "I can't eat the lion and the antelope together if the lion is going to eat the antelope in my tummy!"

Kids…

Defeated, he goes back to the kitchen yet again, drops half of the jar's content in his palm, and looks for another carnivore to go with the orange lion. It can't be an orange hyena because of the color rule, so he chooses a blue hippo instead. Are hippos carnivorous, though? What the hell does a hippo eat, in the first place?

He groans. Maybe he should have listened more the last time they went to the zoo. He's pretty sure lions don't eat hippos, though. Unless they're very hungry lions. But all cats are scared of water, right?

Lord, he's about to have an aneurysm over this.

He goes back to the room with the lion and the hippo, and watches, somewhat anxiously, at Elli's inspection of them.

"Are you sure the lion isn't going to eat the hippo?"

Good thing he came prepared, this time. "Do you remember when we watched Madagascar? How Alex the lion wanted to eat Marty?"

Elli's eyes widen. "Yes."

"Well, one of Alex's friends was Gloria the hippo, right? And Alex didn't want to eat her when he was hungry."

And just like that, the vitamins disappear.

"Daddy," Elli whispers, once he's done with his glass of water and Eric is standing through the doorway, lights off.

"Yeah?"

"Jack Zimmermann is not like Kent Parson, but he's all right, I guess. He's the best on his team. He's the best in Providence. He can be the best in this confre— _conference_ , and Kent Parson can be the best in his conference."

"All right, sweetheart. That's very smart of you. I'm closing the door now, okay?"

Elli's voice is small and tired. "Okay, nighty night."

"Good night, baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy."

*

In the morning, Elli is sprawled out on his bed, Number One tucked under his arm. Just before opening the blinds, Eric snaps a quick picture of him.

It's only around midday that he remembers it, and texts it to Jack.

_Bitty: [picture attached]_

_Bitty: He loved it! Thank you again._

_Jack: Does it have a name? And is that Señor Bun under the pillow?!_

_Bitty: It might be._ 😉 _But LORD that thing is old. Elli doesn't want me to throw it away._

_Jack: Don't you dare, Bittle._

_Bitty: And yes, Elli baptized it Number One, after "Jack Zimmermann, who is not like Kent Parson, but he's all right, I guess."_

_Bitty: So you know where you rank._ 😇

_Jack: :-)_


	3. Chapter 3

They text.

Jack texts him first, in fact. Eric's still cautious, and although he knows there's nothing to fear this time around, he's glad for the visible effort Jack makes to show that this is important to him as well.

After a few more conversations, it's easy to stop overthinking and settle into the day-to-day texting routine they had back at Samwell.

Eric starts watching the Falconers' games, on Elli's insistence, who now doesn't want to miss a single game. At first, Eric turns the TV off for Elli's bedtime routine (there's been a few tantrums about that), but after a few times, he finds himself returning to the game once Elli is asleep.

He watches highlights with Elli on the tablet in the morning, and, needless to say, there's suddenly a lot of Jack in his life, now.

"Daddy," Elli moans, from the dinner table.

Eric looks up. He's supposed to be working on the cookbook, but he might have been staring at his phone instead.

"Yes?"

"Can you help me with homework?"

He tries not to sigh. Why are preschool assignments a thing in the first place? The boy is going to spend the next twenty years of his life doing homework if he goes to college. He might as well enjoy the first few years of his life without it.

"Of course, sweetie, what is it?"

He joins Elli by the coffee table, sits down, and ruffles Elli's hair. A box of crayons is splayed on the table, the yellow one stuck between his fingers as Elli looks down on a sheet of paper depicting three shapes.

"Miss Anika told us to color the sun," Elli explains.

Indeed, the text on the assignment says: _IS THE SUN… A STAR, A TRIANGLE, OR A CIRCLE?_

Eric stares at it for a moment.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, give me a moment, Elli."

… _What?_

Obviously, the sun is a star (triangle, seriously?) but the instruction is to color the right shape, and the sun is round. Do they mean figuratively, or… linguistically?

"Daddy, the sun is a triangle? It can't be a star!"

"Actually," Eric says, slowly, "the sun _is_ a star."

Elli glances at him as if his answer is not to be trusted. "Really?"

"Yes, of course," Eric laughs. That's pretty much the only thing he's sure _of_.

"Okay," Elli says, cautiously, as he starts coloring the star shape.

It's only a few hours later, when Elli's in bed, that Eric finds the assignment again. He takes a quick picture of it and sends it to Lardo and Shitty, along with a string of interrogation marks.

_Shitty: A triangle???_

Eric shakes his head and sends the picture to Jack instead. Maybe he'll understand his dilemma.

_Bitty: Take a look at what they teach my child._

_Jack: Triangle? Really?_

_Bitty: Oh my god, what's up with y'all?_

He laughs, and without thinking about it, presses on the button to call Jack. He doesn't have the time to change his mind: Jack answers right away.

"I don't get it," Jack says. "A triangle? Why would anyone think the sun is a triangle?"

Eric makes a sound. "Shitty said the same thing. It's made for four-year-olds, Jack, four-year-olds."

"It doesn't even look like a triangle."

"Well, it doesn't look like a star either, but here we are. It does ask to color the sun, though, and, the sun is round, right?"

A silence. "Yes…?"

"Lord, I don't even know why I bothered."

"Are you all right, Bittle?" Jack wheezes. Oh. He's missed that sound. "You know, the moon and the Earth are round too, if you were wondering."

"Hush up, mister, you know what I meant. The sun is a star, but if you're going to draw it, it should be round, hence why you should color the circle but call it a star."

By now, Jack is fully laughing.

"I'm awful at this," Eric groans.

"Hey, that's not true."

He sits down on the sofa, crossing a leg under him, and sighs. "I am. And these are preschool assignments. It's only going to get harder and harder from now on. Oh my god," he realizes, "in a few years, he's going to ask me about math. I can't do math."

"You did calculus in college. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"I'm _gay_ , Jack," he deadpans, "my inability do to math is genetically encoded at this point. I'll have to ask, I don't know, Dex or Holster. And then I'll spent nights trying to explain the most basic concepts to Elli and he'll resent me because I can't teach math for shit and—"

"I'm trying out a new recipe," Jack cuts in.

He frowns. "Okay?"

"I'm trying a new recipe, and it's asking for half a cup of sugar, but I want to cut the recipe by three."

"You'll need one-sixth of a cup. What the hell are you cooking that would require one-sixth of a cup of sugar?"

"You'll be fine."

Oh. _Oh_. "Fine. I see your point. Still, there are more complicated things than fractions."

"You'll be fine," Jack repeats, with an air of certitude. "And who says he won't be great at math on his own? He's a smart kid."

Eric smiles. "You've met him once and you're already so sure."

"Of course I'm sure," Jack says. "He takes after his dad."

Eric shakes his head, but his smile doesn't fade away. "Now, I'm pretty sure intelligence _is_ genetic. Of which we don't share much."

If Jack is curious to know, he doesn't ask. "The old debate between nature and nurture, eh? Not everything can be explained with genetics."

…says the Hockey God whose father is also a Hockey God, Eric doesn't point out.

"You're right," he sighs. "Raise them at the best of your abilities and hope for the best. I guess it's what all parents wish for, to have their kids end up taller and smarter than them," he adds, with a smile. "And I've already set the bar pretty low."

Jack chuckles. "C'mon, Bittle, don't sell yourself—"

"Yes, please finish that sentence."

"You know what I mean."

"I do, I do."

He yawns and checks the clock on the oven. It's getting late, and he hasn't even had the time to work on the book tonight. Maybe he should give up and go to bed. The book can wait, the small child climbing in his bed at six in the morning, not so much.

"I'm keeping you up," Jack says.

He hums. "Actually, yes, but I was the one who called."

"Anytime. And I do mean it."

"All right," he says, and can't help but smile. "Good night, Jack."

"Good night, Bittle."

*

He's in the middle of Shitty and Lardo's kitchen, dressed in a fashionable shirt and flattering skinny jeans. Not that anyone can _see_ , since they're under the ugliest pair of beige overalls he's ever had the misfortune to look at.

"I told you I would do the cooking," he tells Lardo, glaring at her.

He's safe, on the other side of the island, and he's fairly sure he can outrun a heavily pregnant woman should the need arise.

"No," Lardo says, "you said that you would come to the baby shower, and we explicitly told you everyone would partake in the painting. You're not backing off now, Bittle."

He groans. "Why can't you do this like everyone else? Have people shower you with gifts and let me bake in peace, without any ritual involving paint."

It's about the sentimental value of having their friends paint the baby's room together, he knows, but couldn't they have chosen something less messy? He already lives with a child, there's no need to make that washing machine suffer more than it has to.

Lardo glares at him. She looks like she's about to leap, so he braces himself against the island, trying to read if she'll go left or right — when they're both distracted by the knocking at the door.

"OPEN UP," Holster yells from the other side. "WE'VE GOT BOOZE!"

College bros never grow up, apparently, but Eric wouldn't have it any other way.

The moment Lardo opens the door, she's engulfed in two pairs of arms that somehow manage to get around that huge belly of hers.

"Holy shit, Lards," Ransom says, holding her by the shoulders. "You're glowing."

Holster runs his thumb over a spot on her forehead, and it comes back yellow. "Might be from the paint."

"You guys," Lardo says, as she hugs them again, "thank you for coming, it's been a while."

It has. Holster and Ransom live in Boston, which isn't that far away, but everyone's been busy lately.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world." Ransom hooks his chin over her shoulder, and when he looks up, his gaze meets Eric's. "Bitty! Get your ass over here, bro!"

Eric laughs and steps up to them, only to be greeted similarly.

Once they've let go of him, Holster squeezes his shoulder. "So, how's our man Elli? Are construction trucks still the rage?"

"Thank god, not anymore," he says. He knows next to nothing about construction sites and such. "That lasted about two and a half minutes. He's all about lighthouses, now."

Ransom's eyebrows quirk up. "Lighthouses? Really?"

"Yup. He makes these sick drawings of them," Lardo says, a hint of artistic pride in her voice, "I'll show you later."

Eric sighs. "I don't even know. They read a book about lighthouses in preschool and now he's obsessed."

"Damn," Holster says. "Next time we drop by, we'll take him to the movies, bro."

"I'll take you up on that."

Holster grins back at him and Eric feels his heart swell in his chest. He might be Elli's only parent, but the boy has been raised by a whole village. And Elli adores every single one of his uncles and aunts, however mad they are.

"So," Ransom says, as he drops his coat on the back of the couch. "You're putting us to work, Lardo?"

Holster nods and lifts the beer. "Let me drop this in the kitchen, and I'm your man."

"Actually," Eric says, reaching for the beer, "I was going there anyway, so I'll take it and let y'all have fun—"

Ransom's hand drops on Eric's shoulder. "I thought we were all supposed to help? You've even traded your apron, Bits!"

"Not a word about the atrocity I'm wearing, mister."

"Right," Holster says as Ransom directs Eric down the hallway.

Holster is bracketing him from the other side, ending all possibilities of escape. "You're already dressed for the job, we're just going to get in there and splatter a bit of paint around and we'll call it a—"

Holster gapes and Ransom halts them under the doorframe: in the middle of the room, Jack's tipping his brush in the paint, and when he straightens back up again, their gazes meet.

"You know what?" Ransom says, already steering Eric back towards the hallway. "Let's go have a look at that kitchen."

Eric groans and shrugs Ransom's hands off him. "It's fine. We're fine."

Holster shakes his head. "You and your manners."

"I'm telling you it's _fine_."

So, Holster and Ransom have always been a _bit_ overprotective. They were his captains the year after that fateful hookup — and even if it was their official role at the time, Eric couldn't be more grateful that they stuck by him. He’d been a _mess_. The team's support had been everything, but he felt guilty about their friends having to choose. He knew he’d been part of the problem as well, and seeing Holster and Ransom rant about Jack’s behavior was sometimes too much. Eric couldn’t help but worry: was Jack getting as much support as him? After all, Jack had told him, that night they were together, that he didn't regret Samwell. What felt as first as a detour brought him friends he never knew he deserved.

Holster and Ransom were a few of the ones Jack lost that following morning.

At the time, Eric wanted to hate Jack for what had happened, but he couldn't stop worrying about him either. But Jack didn't contact him, so he mustn't have cared that much about him and his old team after all. As far as Eric knew, Jack had severed all ties with the guys on the team, apart from Shitty and Lardo, and went on with his life.

In retrospect, Eric couldn't have been more mistaken. Jack's anxiety probably made him believe in the worst-case scenario, that Eric wouldn't take his apology, and so he cut all ties instead.

"I swear we're fine," Eric insists. "We had coffee, and we talked about… things."

Ransom stares at him, doubtful. "Bro, really?"

"Yes, really."

"And," Holster says, "you're okay with it? You know you don't have to forgive him."

Eric glares at him. "Do you think I'd be here today if I wasn't okay with it?"

Truth be told, he knew the moment he heard Shitty's tone on the phone last week — "Bitty. Bits. _Bruh_. You are one fabulous motherfucker and you know that I love you…" — he knew that something was up with the upcoming baby shower/painting party. It wasn't a surprise when Shitty asked him if he was okay with Jack being there since Shitty and Lardo wanted to get all their close friends together that day. Eric would have agreed even if Jack and he hadn't been on speaking terms, but quite fortunately, it's not the case anymore.

Holster doesn't look so sure, though. Ugh, these boys.

"It's fine," Eric repeats. "Let's get back in there, and you two, please act civilized."

Lardo walks up to them, holding a tall glass of peach juice with a cocktail parasol dipped in it. "So, you're going to paint?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Lord help me," he sighs, "but I will." At least it ought to prove his point to Holster and Ransom.

Half an hour later, he's back in the kitchen, overalls thrown over the nearest chair and not a single splatter of paint on his clothes. Thank goodness. He got cheered on as he gave the wall a few brushes of paint, before declaring to general laughter that his part was done. He even caught a smile on Jack's face, before Jack got back on the step-ladder to continue painting the upper part of the wall with methodic precision. Soon enough, Ransom and Holster were busy enough that Eric could escape their surveillance.

He turns the oven on for the lasagna he's brought. There are three pies, too, waiting in the fridge. Is three enough, though? They're a good dozen of painters, which means four people per pie. But Ransom _and_ Holster are here.

"Taking a break from the painting?" Rani — one of Shitty's coworkers, a brunette woman Eric wouldn't particularly want to stand against in a courtroom — asks as she joins him in the kitchen.

"I was taking a break from cooking, truth be told. What about you?"

"I don't mind the painting," she laughs, "but I admit that I have a limited capacity of how much time I can spend in a room full of ex-hockey players."

He chuckles. "You get used to it." She gives him a look, and Eric laughs outright. "I swear!"

Rani shakes her head and takes a sip from her beer. "Not that it's any of my business, but… is everything okay with, you know, er, William, I think, and Derek? They keep bickering at each other. Have they been going through a rough time, lately?"

Eric laughs. If only she knew. "That's Dex and Nursey for you. They've always been like that. I hope they're behaving," he adds, just as the sound of gasps, yells, and paint splatters echo down the hallway.

"That didn't take long," he sighs. "That has to be Ransom and Holster," he says, judging by the shouts they're hearing.

" _Those_ two are definitely married," Rani says, smirking. "Anyway, I thought Shitty was exaggerating when he talked about his old hockey team, but… are any of you straight?"

He laughs and goes to put the lasagna in the oven. He wants to say that Ransom and Holster are, but he still doesn't know what the deal is with them. They're living together seven years after college, but it's not like there's an expiration date on being roommates either. He's pretty sure that Ransom had a serious girlfriend a few years ago, which he hasn't heard of since. Whatever they have, it works for them.

"Well, there's Shitty, and uh—" Ollie and Wicks got married pretty soon after they graduated (or was it before?) and they didn't invite _anyone_ , which, like, _whatever._ (He sent them a complimentary pie, so it's not like they're on bad terms or anything. But seriously? They spent four years of college together, on the same team!) Whiskey has had a serious boyfriend for a while now, and Eric hasn't heard from Johnson since he sent a baffling congratulatory card the day Eric officially adopted Elli. (" _Congratulations! I hope this plot device helps you achieve everything you want in the future!_ "). "Chowder! He plays for the Sharks, he's married, with two kids and everything."

They're due for a call, soon, now that he thinks about it.

Rani's about to say something when a man with an impressive mane of dreadlocks enters the kitchen and drops on a stool beside her with an exaggerated sigh — Leonardo, or Leo, as he insisted earlier. He's Lardo's colleague at the gallery, and he seems pretty… nice, if only a bit hipster-y. The type of man who is above the abstract concept of sexual orientation and has probably done a painting with his blood to illustrate artistic suffering. He must have some good qualities, Eric thinks, if he's friends with Lardo.

"How is it, back there?" Rani asks him, a sly smile on her face.

Leo sighs again, as if neither of them can understand his desperation. "I don't think any of these people have seen a paintbrush before."

"That's probably true," Eric chuckles. Apart from Dex, maybe.

He checks the cupboards — there's enough flour to do another pie. Three are definitely not enough. Oh lord. What was he thinking? He brought _three pies_ to a gathering of the biggest pie enthusiasts ever. It's like bringing whole-grain bread to the preschool potluck all over again. He ain't gonna make that mistake twice.

"Know your audience," he mutters to himself, bringing the flour to the island.

"Eric, right?" Leo asks, flashing him a wide, genuine smile.

Okay, he can see how it works, now.

He smiles back. "Yup. You work with Lard— Larissa at the gallery, right?”

Leo is about to answer when a shout comes from down the corridor: Shitty. "Rani, c'mere, I need a non-biased third party to settle this fucking debate once and for all!"

She chuckles, and sets her beer on the counter. "I'll leave you two gentlemen to it," she says, her tone implying that she was going to do it anyway, intervention or not.

He starts mixing his dough, and for a moment, his gaze meets Leo's, and… _Fine._ The man's got nice eyes, what can he say? He's not exactly Eric's type, but it's not like he's gotten any in ages. Even if it's only attention, it's… nice.

He clears his throat and concentrates back on the dough.

"Yeah, I work with Larissa," Leo says. "I think I saw you at one of our exhibitions? The one where we did the combination of shadows and oil paintings? I did the sculpting for that."

Eric lifts his head. "No way!"

He goes to Lardo's exhibitions when he can, but it doesn't mean he knows a single thing about art. That last one, though, made his jaw drop to the floor. Lardo's oil paintings had been aligned on the wall, bits and pieces of metal floating in front of them, attached to the ceiling with invisible thread. When you stepped behind the floating bits, at the right angle, the strong lighting created figures that displayed on the painting — people, objects, animals, shadows you discovered as you walked around the room, changing angles each time. It was like stepping into an animated world, and Eric brought Elli along on the second evening, holding him in his arms and smiling at each of his amazed, tiny gasps.

"No way!" he repeats. "That was _you_?"

Okay, so maybe not painting with his blood, then. His eyes settle on Leo's fingers, curled around his beer. He's always liked talented hands.

Leo lifts both of his hands and grins. "The one and only."

"Goodness, that was so impressive." He leans in a bit, abandoning the dough for a moment. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I can show you some more if you want to," Leo says, suggestively.

So it _is_ going there.

Eric bites on his lower lip. "I'd like that. Let me get your number. Give me a second," he adds.

He goes to the sink to wash his hands — he'd rather not have butter all over his phone — and just as he's about to turn back to Leo, a hand settles on his waist, out of nowhere.

"Watch out," Jack warns him, but Eric was already moving and his back collides with Jack's chest, his head bumping against Jack's elevated arm.

"Hey!"

He frowns, and looks up, to see Jack fumbling around the top cupboard. His hand feels hot on Eric's waist. It irradiates the skin under his shirt.

"There you go," Jack says, as he steps away and shows him the carton of peach juice he retrieved from up there. "Juice?"

He rolls his eyes and is about to say no when he notices the amount of yellow paint staining Jack's old grey tee-shirt.

"Jack Laurent Zimmermann," he gasps, contorting his arm to swap the back of his shirt. "If I find a single stain on my shirt—"

"Don't worry." Jack passes a hand on the front of his tee-shirt. "It's all dried up."

"For your sake, I hope it is," he says, returning to his dough. It's one of his nicest shirts — he doesn't have a lot of these anymore, so he really hopes he hasn't ruined it — but he can't keep the smile from growing on his face.

Until he notices Leo, looking at him, eyebrows high on his forehead.

"Okay," he says, clearing his throat. Jack is still behind him, pottering around the cupboards, probably searching for a glass. "Where were we?"

Right. At the part where he was washing his hands to write down Leo's number in his phone. Lord.

He closes his eyes for a second and presses the back of his wrist to his forehead, his hands all buttery again.

He can do this.

He turns once more towards the sink and nearly collides with Jack _again_.

"Bittle. You've got paint in your hair."

"Argh!" He sticks his head between his shoulders. "Take it out!"

"Don't move," Jack says.

Eric leans his head towards him and feels Jack's fingers tugging at a strand of hair, at the back of his head.

"There." Jack lifts his hand, a blob of paint crushed between his fingers.

"Thank you," he says, but Jack has already turned his back on him, going for the sink.

He turns back towards the island, but Leo's already half-risen from his stool.

"Never mind," Leo says, "I'll go see if they need any help. Talk to you later, Eric?" he adds, his tone polite, but Eric can tell that he's lost interest.

"Of course!"

Once Leo is out of sight, he groans and lets his head fall against the cool stone. Oh well, he wasn't that much into him anyway, but it's not like he can afford to be picky.

"Don't pretend like I don't know what you're doing, mister," he tells Jack.

Jack blanches at that. "What did I do?" Of course, Jack wouldn't know — Eric can see the wheels turning in his head. Three… Two… One… "Oh. _Oh_." Jack frowns. "C'mon, you can do way better than that guy."

He doesn't dignify that with an answer but starts working the dough again, handling it with more vigor than necessary. Great. He'll have made an awful pie on top of everything else. Just _great_.

"Bittle?" Jack asks, carefully.

Eric sighs, and glances over his shoulder. "Jack…" He doesn't even know where to begin.

Ugh. Truthfully, Jack probably saved him some trouble down the line — he's heard from Lardo that Leo doesn't really like kids — but the fact is Eric doesn't _need_ anyone to save him. Especially not Jack, who doesn't have a claim on him but still subconsciously acts like an asshole in the presence of anyone who's ever shown a tiny bit of interest towards Eric. Since _Samwell_. Old habits die hard. But now that Eric's moved on, he can't let Jack interfere anymore.

"Shit. Sorry. _Sorry_." Blue eyes blown wide, Jack genuinely looks like it. "He didn't— you can still— or I can fetch him for you—"

He shakes his head. It was a long shot with Leo, and he doesn't want to risk his shaky friendship with Jack over it.

"Are you saying you'll wingman for me?" His words throw Jack off track and he's so obviously regretting his suggestion that Eric laughs. He reaches for the pie pan and starts molding the dough. "Don't worry. You're right, he wasn't my type, to begin with." He bites on his lower lip. "It's just… harder now, you know? When you have a kid. Men aren't exactly lining up at the prospect of dating a nearly thirty years old single father who's got three jobs to make ends meet. Glasses are in the cupboard left of the sink," he adds for Jack's benefit, who's still going around the kitchen.

"Right," Jack says, followed by a pause, as he reaches for the glasses. "They're missing out, then." It's said with such honesty that it makes Eric's heart squeeze in his chest. "Seriously, Bittle." Jack steps up to the island, a slight frown on his face. "You're worth it, okay? You're hard-working, no one should give you trouble for that, and if they have anything against Elli, then they don't deserve either of you in the first place. I mean it, you can do better than _Leonardo_." He leans in, conspiratorially. "I don't think that's even his real name."

Eric gasps, faking surprise. "You don't say. I'll give him points for the accent, though."

"Oh, anyone can do that," Jack says, accentuating his québécois accent to the point that Eric chuckles. "I'm just saying, if that accent has ever smelled an Italian spaghetti before, it must have been a Western one."

"Don't be rude!" His point doesn't come across: he's wheezing. Jack is right, though, Eric's dated an Italian guy before, and there's no comparison to make.

"Leonardo da Providence," Jack snickers, and Eric takes the cloth off his shoulder and whips Jack with it on the ass (he was actually angling it for the small of his back), as Jack turns towards the fridge.

They're still laughing when Shitty enters the kitchen, bright-eyed. Without a word, he moves between them to leave a smack of a kiss on Eric's cheek first, then on Jack's, grabs the juice and the glasses, and leaves.

A single glance at each other, and they're losing it again.

"All right," Jack says, once he's regained control over himself, and points at the unfinished pie. "I have a question for you."

"About that, if you're not going back there, then you might as well peel some apples for me."

Jack nods and fetches the bag of apples from the counter. Half-concentrated on the dough, Eric watches from the corner of his eyes as Jack obediently starts to peel an apple. It feels easy, as if they're back in the Haus's kitchen, baking together for that seminar they took together.

"What did you want to ask me?" he says, once Jack is done with his first apple.

"Oh, right. Euh, I'm not sure exactly. It's just that when I followed your recipe for the pecan pie, it didn't really taste like when you make it?"

He lifts his head and stares. He's so convinced that Jack's going to crack a smile and admit it's a joke that he doesn't even correct him on the pronunciation of _pecan_.

"Pardon me?"

Jack looks slightly lost. "Er, which part? I got your cookbook, yeah. Well, cookbooks."

Jack Zimmermann has bought and used his cookbooks. Jack Zimmermann has _bought_ and _used_ his cookbooks. _Jack Zimmermann has BOUGHT and USED his cookbooks_.

"Oh, lord," he chuckles, nervously. "That might be my fault, then, the second one was a disaster."

Both content-wise and financially — his life was in shambles and he had a very tiny baby in his arms while writing it. God bless his agent and the fact that she's willing to make the third one happen anyway.

"That's not true. I like that bagel recipe in the second one."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Of course you would, you Montreal-born woodsman," he chirps. "Anyway, did you use the right flour?"

"Sorry?"

"For the _pecan_ pie."

"Right." He frowns. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I followed that recipe closely."

They go over every step of the pecan pie, trying to see where Jack went wrong before Eric gives up. It seems like Jack did everything by the book. Eric _did_ teach his boys right.

"I don't see what you're doing wrong. Maybe it's your oven? Though baking results tend to vary from person to person. You wouldn't believe my mama's blueberry cobbler and mine come from the same recipe. I guess I'd have to see you do it to say what you're doing differently," he reflects out loud.

"Would you mind?"

He stares at Jack for a whole second. He was being polite, not thinking Jack would take the offer, but now that he's made it, he's not going to take it back.

"Of course not," he says, trying to sound casual. "Just let me know when you're free."

Before Jack can reply comes a raucous of paint cans clattering against each other down the hallway.

"ALL RIGHT, WHERE'S THE CHAMPAGNE?" Shitty shouts, and just like that, a dozen pairs of feet stampede towards the kitchen.

"Lord, here they come," Eric says, and Jack laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A light chapter as the next one will be a bit more heavy -- a few questions will be answered as Bitty and Jack make that pecan pie. :) The chapter might arrive a bit late since I'm handing in two papers next week, sorry for that! Thank you for your lovely comments, they keep me motivated through the editing process! <333


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! Now that the holidays are behind us, I plan to get back on schedule with updates every Friday!
> 
> Trigger warning: there is a discussion about abortion in this chapter. It happens when Jack and Bitty sit down together on the couch, at the end of the chapter -- it starts when Bitty mentions his cousin Miriam and ends with Jack asking "Because she was staying at your place?". I will recap that conversation in the end notes for those who'd rather not read that part. 
> 
> This chapter contains bits in French, and for the first time I used coding to integrate translations. If you hover over the text, you should get the English version. On phones and tables, clicking on the underlined text should show you the translation as well. If it doesn't work, please let me know and I'll find another way!  
> Also, please don't use what I've written here as a lesson in French -- I'm writing how Jack would speak, and our slang is more often than not grammatically incorrect. :P 
> 
> Enjoy!

They end up meeting two weeks later, at Jack's place. Elli is at a sleepover with his best friend, Maya, and Eric's quite glad for the promise of a full night of sleep and not having to wake up early tomorrow. He needs it: Elli climbed in his bed last night after a nightmare and spent the rest of the night finding ways to kick Eric while in a fitful sleep.

Now, standing in the middle of Jack's condo, facing the bay windows and watching the busy city as workers are driving back home, Eric can only hope he won't fall asleep nose-first in the pie they're supposed to bake together.

It's still early, but the sun is setting, as it's bound to do at this hour in February, and in the background, he can hear the faint noise of a shower running. The bus left him early in front of Jack's building — better early than late, in his book — just in time to meet him on the way in. He's had a practice, this afternoon, and told Eric to make himself home while he's showering.

It's a nice condo — minimalist but cozy at once, all in good taste. It feels very much like Jack, yet the decoration is, surprisingly, not all about hockey. The "Be Better" poster has been replaced with a few abstract pieces signed with Lardo's name, and an impressive book collection covers the wall behind the couch in the living room. There's a bag of golf clubs by the entryway (in February?), a pool table, and game consoles stacked under the impressive TV set — most likely for when the team is around, judging by the number of controllers. The kitchen is clean and the huge fruit bowl in the middle of the island is reassuring: Jack's diet isn't only composed of protein shakes, thank goodness. That oven is making Eric feel things, so he doesn't linger — Jack is doing the baking tonight, after all.

He moves down the hallway and finds himself in front of the only indication that the apartment might belong to a hockey enthusiast: four posters, made digitally but in a cool vintage design, depicting Gretzky, Lemieux, Richard, and Orr.

He's about to walk back towards the kitchen — nosiness never did anyone any good — when his attention is caught by the constellation of photographs on the wall just in front of the posters.

The first one he sees are, without surprise, the three times the Falcs have won the Cup. Jack is standing in the middle of his team, looking ecstatic, wide grins on every face. Eric's throat grows tight. He’s missed a lot in their years apart, and this hits him hard. Well, Jack will only have to win one more this season, and this time, Eric will be there when he does.

The photographs seem to move somewhat chronologically, and most of them depict Jack's friends. Eric can tell which ones Jack took himself because the angles are still a bit wonky and sometimes the lighting isn't very good, but it makes them that much more charming. There are some of Jack's teammates, one as they're celebrating something in a bar, another one showing the man Eric knows as Lachance, number 7, grinning as he's wearing fake moose antlers. There's something private in his smile as he looks directly at the camera. Does it mean something? Or is he reading too much into it?

There's a lot of Shitty and Lardo, and one showing Jack golfing at an event with his father, along with famous players — Eric recognizes Lemieux, Lafleur, Gretzky, and Lapointe. On another one, Jack is stuck under Mashkov's arm, Kent Parson on Mashkov's other side. Eric frowns. Are they friends, now?

"Aw," he whispers to himself, as his eyes land on the most adorable picture of the bunch: it shows a four-year-old Jack in his tiny Canadiens jersey, wearing even tinier skates and a huge helmet, propped between Bob and Alicia.

If he had enough money for hockey gear, this is what Elli would look like at hockey practice.

He nearly misses it, disturbed by the sound of a door closing between what he guesses is the bathroom and Jack's bedroom, but it's there nonetheless, a picture from Jack's senior year that they took at the beginning of the playoffs, still when they thought they had a chance to win the Frozen Four. They're all beaming at the camera, and Eric looks so small, tucked under Jack's arm, with Ransom on his right.

It's the single picture on the wall in which he features.

He barely notices that Jack has stepped up to him, smelling of that same body wash he used all these years ago, his hair still wet.

Eric winces. "Sorry, I shouldn't be snooping around like that."

"It's fine. I told you to make yourself at home." He follows Eric's gaze to the wall, and for a second, Eric wants to turn his head and pretend that he wasn't looking at that particular picture. "That's a good one, eh?"

"Oh my god," he gasps. "We looked like _babies_."

Jack smiles. "That we did."

"I know that you've won three Cups and everything, but it still sucks we didn't get the championship that year."

"No, I get it. It would have been amazing to get it, at least once. But you went ahead and did it anyway," Jack adds, with a wink.

Eric shakes his head. "It wasn't all me."

"Do you miss it? Skating?"

"Every day," he sighs. There's no need to bother hiding the truth — he always felt like he could be honest with Jack.

Jack looks at him and frowns. "Why aren't you doing it anymore?"

He stares back, and when the look on Jack's face confirms that he truly is clueless about it, he lets out a nervous chuckle. "I used to, before Elli. I coached figure skating and hockey during the weekend at the local rink, when I was not working on the book, but then Elli came along and I didn't have time anymore. Three jobs, remember?"

"You could go with Elli. Though you said he prefers watching?"

"No, I took him a few times, he likes it. It's been… more complicated since he outgrew his first pair of skates. It's not like hockey's the cheapest sport out there."

Jack winces as if finally understanding. "If you'd like, the, er, Falconers have a program. Or I could ask around, I'm pretty sure one of the guys has a pair that they don't use and that would fit."

"I'll think about it," he says, with a slight smile. "Elli's pretty busy anyway, he's already got swimming, ballet, and art class."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Ballet?"

"Yeah, he started back in September. At this age, it's mostly running around waving hands, but it's great for coordination, and lord knows that kid needs it. He likes it, but it just looks… so hard for him." He sighs. "Maybe it's just a matter of time. I shouldn't compare, I was way older when I started."

"Wait. _You_ did ballet?"

Eric throws him a look. "I was a figure-skater, Jack, of course, I had dance training. It wasn't specifically ballet, though."

"You never told us that."

"I thought everyone on the team knew. Rans and Holster wanted to make a play out of it."

Jack shakes his head in disbelief. "Well, the most important thing is that Elli's having fun, right?"

"Yes, of course. Before I forget!" he says, walking back towards the kitchen, "he wanted me to give you this."

He fetches the drawing from his satchel at the door and hands it to Jack.

"For me?" Jack asks, a frown on his face, looking a bit stunned.

"As a proper thank you for the teddy. Now," he warns, crossing his arms over his chest, "I know what it looks like and that's not it."

Jack's beaming smile transforms into something shakier as he unfolds the paper.

"It's a lighthouse," Eric says.

Jack puts the tips of his fingers against his mouth. "That's, that's—"

He chuckles. "Very phallic, but you're not supposed to say."

"No," Jack says, "I mean, it's _great_. It really is. Thank you." He looks up, still smiling. "You'll tell him, right?"

"Of course! It's supposed to be Falconer blue, by the way."

They didn't have that exact shade of blue, which is surprising considering the number of recycled colored pencils Elli inherits from Lardo. Under the lighthouse, Eric's neat handwriting spells out the message Elli dictated to him — _Thank you for the teddy, Mr Jack. His name is Number One, just like you!_ — Followed by Elli's wobbly signature.

Jack springs up from the stool and goes to fiddle around the magnets on the fridge until the drawing is splayed out in its glory. He takes a step back to get a good look at it as if it's a gigantic Renaissance painting he needs to seize in its entirety.

He looks so elated that Eric feels warm all over.

"I love it. Now I have to think of something to thank him for that."

"Don't you dare, or you two will go around in circles forever," Eric says, though he knows nothing will ever stop Jack from being generous with his friends. "Weren't you supposed to make your pecan pie?"

"Ah, right."

Jack casually fetches Eric's cookbook from one of the shelves in the kitchen, his ears slightly pink, and they go over the ingredients together — Jack had texted him earlier this week to even get the brands right. That boy is nothing short of dedicated.

"I did a vlog about this one," he points out, but Jack shakes his head.

"Uh, no, I only have the books," he says, the red from his ears pooling towards his cheeks now, nose in the book in front of him.

Eric could tease him — just to make him blush harder — because the guys chirped him forever about getting a link to his vlog, and now that it's out there in the open, Jack hasn't even watched it. But after all, he stayed away from Jack's career all those years, so it only makes sense Jack did the same. At least, most of his old, embarrassing vlogs from Samwell are on private now. He didn't have as many followers as he does now, but he still can't believe how many personal details he spilled in there. He tries to keep the two separate now, especially after having Elli — he doesn't want to become one of those Insta parents who monetize their kids, thank you very much.

Jack gets to work since he's supposed to try the recipe on his own, and Eric sits down and watches him go. Naturally, the conversation deviates towards hockey.

"I haven't been following much, lately," Eric says, and that's an understatement. "Y'all have a spot in the playoffs, this year?"

"If we keep going as we have, we should, yeah. The team is doing well, even though we had to rework lines since Lucky had to get ankle surgery."

"Lucky?"

"Sorry — Lachance? He's one of my wingers. Fast as hell, like you. One of our bests, really, so it's been an adjustment to play without him, but we're coping. Better than him, he's been moping around, but he might get back on the ice if we get far enough in the playoffs," he adds, tone careful, as he's concentrated on mixing the dough.

Eric watches Jack's hands, for a moment.

"Not to jinx y'all, but do you think you will?"

Jack looks up and shrugs. "Ah, I guess we'll see. We're doing well, but the competition is tough. The Pens and the Flyers are pretty strong this year, they won't be easy to beat. I'd like it, though. Not getting any younger."

Eric swats a hand at him. "Ugh, come on, you're only thirty-two."

"That's like, close to a hundred in hockey years," Jack snorts, though he doesn't seem too deterred about it; he throws Eric a smile.

What does Jack plan to do, after the NHL? He's kind of curious about it, but it doesn't seem to be the best line of questioning, considering Jack.

"Who knows, maybe you have another decade or two in you and you'll beat Jágr."

Jack snorts again. "I seriously doubt that." He looks up, eyes lost on the wall in front of him. "I have a bad knee," he says, softly. "Not like, _bad_ bad, but it'll get there eventually. I just don't want to slow the rest of them down."

"Jack," Eric says, with a long look. "I know they say you're at the height of your physical abilities when you're twenty-five or something, but the way you played last month can't even begin to compare with the way you played at Samwell."

"Really?" Jack asks, looking surprised. "I mean, I know I've improved, but—"

"Hush. Take the compliment," he chuckles. "The Falcs should be happy to have you for as long as your health allows, and that's that."

Jack smiles and returns to his dough, but the color hasn't left his cheeks. Taking pity on him, Eric asks for the bathroom.

A few minutes later, after Jack has assured him he's got everything in control, Eric moves to the living room, eyeing the impressive shelves of books. An author comes back a few times — Michel Tremblay — and features notably on an absolute brick of a book. Curious, he picks it up and skims over a few pages.

"Which one are you looking at?" Jack asks, from the kitchen.

"This one?" Eric lifts the book for Jack to see, and it nearly strains his wrist it's so big. "Seriously? When do you find the time to read all that?"

"We travel a lot. And there are five novels in that book, actually."

Jack often carried around schoolbooks and history books on roadies, and even though it was clear he enjoyed these, Eric's not quite sure he's seen him read fiction for pleasure.

He opens the book again and notices the five titles splayed on the first page. "What is it about? _La grosse femme d'à c_ —" he starts reading, but stumbles on the right pronunciation.

" _La grosse femme d'à côté est enceinte_ ," Jack corrects him.

"What's that?"

"Literally? The big woman next door is pregnant."

Eric's eyes widen. "Okay, _now_ you've got to tell me what it's about."

Jack laughs. "It's a day in the life of a working-class family in Montréal in 1942. Most of the neighborhood is composed of pregnant women as men could escape military service if they had young kids at home."

Three hundred pages describing a single day? Ugh. Also, the most Jack thing ever.

Jack seems to catch on to Eric's expression, because he chuckles, and shakes his head. "You don't understand. It's okay."

"No, tell me," he insists. "Why do you like it?"

Jack's putting the pecans on the pie now, and there's a slight frown on his face as he takes a moment to think of his answer. "His work is a pretty big deal because he was one of the first to write the way we speak, in joual. Uh, slang, I guess? Yeah. It was deemed unliterary, but then you'd read books in school in which characters are speaking clean French and sounding like strangers. And it's set in Montréal, so that's always pretty fun to revisit when I haven't been there in a while." He looks up and smiles. "He's one of the only québécois authors who manages not to be depressing as hell, too. Or well, you laugh at first, but then you think about everything that's hidden under the humor. That first book in the series is pretty light, though, it has an atmosphere…"

"Yes?"

Jack licks his lips and looks down at his pie. "There are a few words, as the whole family is gathered at supper, and for once they're not arguing with each other… It says sometimes like they're on the eve of the apocalypse. It struck me, at the time." He pauses. "I guess I always felt a bit like that."

"On the edge of an apocalypse?" Eric asks, voice low.

"Yeah."

"Now, still?"

Jack looks up, his expression… soft. "No, not for a while."

"I'm glad."

For a moment, they smile at each other, before Eric turns back towards the shelves and replaces the book in its rightful place. Just as he's about to do so, he notices another book, with two embracing figures on the cover, both of which are male. It's from the same author.

He picks it up. " _La nuit des princes charmants._ " He actually knows what that means: something like _the night of the charming princes_.

"Oh," Jack chuckles. "This one is fun."

Eric bites on his lower lip. "What is it about?"

"It's a young guy who gifts himself a ticket to the opera for his eighteenth birthday, but since he's also becoming legal, he sets on to lose his virginity that night."

He makes a sound, and Jack laughs, "I know."

"What happens?" he asks because now he's _properly_ curious.

"He, as he puts it, falls in love with a man in line for the opera."

Eric barks out a laugh.

"What? Come on, he's eighteen."

 _Oh, honey_ , he wants to say, _I'm not doubting you, I know the feeling_.

"An anglophone, waiting with his mother," Jack continues, oblivious, "so nothing can happen because she's there. They get inside, and he falls in love with another man, an extra in the opera. At that point, he's basically having an existential crisis over polygamy, but he settles on the man in the opera instead."

Eric bites on his lower lip. "Does he get one of them in the end?"

"Yeah. He goes out with the opera guy — there's an interesting bit about gay bars in 1960s Montréal — but he soon discovers that he's not that much into him, and vice versa. He bumps into the anglophone at one of the bars, and they dance together, get to a hotel, and well—"

"Virginity lost?" he chuckles.

"Yep."

"Uh," Eric reflects, considering the book in his hand. It isn't even that big. "Maybe I should give it a try."

"I'm pretty sure this isn't translated."

"I meant in French."

Jack frowns. " _You_ speak French?"

"No need to sound so surprised, mister. I took French class senior year, so I could go on a six months internship at a bakery in France after I graduated."

"Really?" Jack asks, still sounding doubtful, as he picks up the completed pie and opens the oven's door.

"Uh-uh. _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?_ See?"

He should have anticipated the effect these words would have on the poor man: Jack half-drops the pie in the oven, saving it midair like a goalie scrambling for the puck, but then, that's what Jack gets for chirping his French.

"If you're wondering why your pies taste different," Eric says. "I ain't dropping mine in the oven."

Jack makes a show of rolling his eyes at him while closing the oven's door, but there's a growing grin on his face. "Did you actually _do_ any work at that bakery? Please tell me this isn't the only thing you learned in France."

Eric gasps because _of course,_ Jack doesn't know Lady Marmalade. "You disrespect me _and_ Christina Aguilera for not knowing that this is a song, Jack, and a song I knew well before going over there. My French ain't that bad, I'm telling you."

" "

" ," he says, playing dumb, which makes Jack laugh.

"Three euros for a baguette? Isn't that a bit much?"

" "

Jack rolls his eyes again. " "

" _Pardon?_ " he teases. That man's accent is to die for. " " 

" _Calvaire_ ," Jack grumbles. " "

" " he laughs. "Chirp, chirp, chirp."

"Oh my god," Jack buries his face in his hands. "But seriously, how was it, over there?"

Frankly, not that great, though Eric doesn't say as he recounts his time in France, freshly served glass of wine in hand. The language barrier had been difficult to overcome, and even though he had a boyfriend for the last few months — Matteo, an Italian man who thankfully spoke very good English but who didn't care enough to try the long-distance thing after Eric got back to the States — he felt lonely, away from his friends. At the time, he thought it had been the right thing to do, to cut the umbilical cord still attaching him to Samwell. A world he needed to learn to live without.

He focuses on the fun bits instead: his charming boss at the bakery, the impressive amount of French cuisine he learned over there.

The conversation diverges from éclairs and macarons to the book he's currently writing. He tells Jack about the jam conundrum — his Mom still hasn't forgiven him for adapting aunt Judy's recipe rather than her own, though she hides it under a thick layer of, "The best family jam needs to stay a family secret anyway."

"It better read _death by jam_ on my headstone," he sighs, leaning his chin on the back of his hand. "I currently have twelve strawberry jam recipes, and my editor only lets me have one per fruit. That doesn't make _any sense_."

He takes a sip of wine and Jack nods along, his eyes wide.

"What about strawberry and rhubarb? It doesn't taste at all like regular strawberry jam! How am I supposed to choose? All jams are good jams!"

By the time the pie is ready, he's on his second glass of wine, discussing Lardo's latest sonogram.

"Goodness, that smells divine," he says, as Jack places the warm pie on the countertop.

"Let's taste it before you start praising my nonexistent baking skills," Jack says.

He looks just a bit proud — and Eric gets why, considering what happened to the lattice last time they baked together.

Pie distributed on plates, they relocate to the living room, on Jack's insistence that they will be more comfortable there. He didn't have a chance to sit down since he came back to practice, and Eric wonders if his knee is bothering him.

They sit down on the couch, a very platonic distance between them, glasses of wine on the coffee table. Jack bends a leg and sits on his heel so that they can be somewhat face-to-face.

In front of them, the city's lights are bright sparks dancing in the bay window.

"All right, moment of truth," Eric says. He takes a forkful of pie and raises his plate towards Jack. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

That first bite is good — it's more than good, and he coughs a bit to dissimulate the moan that nearly escapes his lips. What? People don't cook for _him_ that often.

Beside him, Jack tenses up. "What? Is it awful?"

"No, no, it's good. It's _really_ good," he says, and it's his turn to feel his face heat.

"Don't you think it tastes different?" Jack asks, frowning a bit.

Eric takes another bite, just to check. It sure tastes different, but not like Jack's made a mistake or followed another recipe altogether. Sure, it's not exactly the same as Eric's, but it's decent for someone who doesn't bake that often.

"It's because you made a pecan pie, and not a _pecan_ pie."

Jack barks out a laugh, inhibited for the first time tonight, and it melts into a soft expression on his face. Lord, that needs to happen more often.

"Oh my god," Jack breathes out, "when will you let that go?"

"Uh, when you'll start pronouncing it right. But seriously," he adds, taking another bite of pie, "this is really good. The crust is just a tiny bit dry, but that's easy enough to fix, I'll show you. For the rest… It doesn't taste exactly like one of mine, but that's not bad either. Each baker has their style."

Jack pouts, a bit. He actually _pouts_. "It's not yours, though."

Jack misses his pies. It's been eight years and Jack _still misses his pies_. Why does it surprise him that much, when he missed Jack's hockey, Jack's quirks, Jack's… Jack?

Maybe it's just nice to know that the feeling is reciprocated. He'll take it.

"Goodness, you flatter me." Before he can stop himself, he adds, "No need to try to emulate my pies when I'm around and can bake you some."

Jack's face is impassible. "Really?"

"Yes, of course."

Jack looks down and picks up his fork again. They eat in silence for a few minutes, before Jack asks if he wants another glass of wine. He agrees, even though he's kind of drinking Jack under the table, here, but he's had a long day. He has to learn to enjoy himself on nights he's not taking care of Elli — says pretty much anyone in his life.

Just as Jack comes back with the wine, Eric sets his empty plate on the coffee table and yawns.

"Sorry, I'm being rude."

"Not at all. Long day?"

"You could say that," he sighs. "Elli kept me awake until three in the morning. He gets nightmares, sometimes, so I let him spend the rest of the night in my bed. Not sure if I should allow that, but…"

He shrugs. Elli is a pretty well-disciplined kid, but one thing Eric's not able to do is to let him cry alone in his room because of night terrors. _Manning up_ is not a thing he believes in, especially not when talking about a four-year-old.

"It's just not very conducive to sleep," he explains with a smile. "He kicks a lot."

"He sounds like an amazing kid, though."

Eric beams. "He really is. I just don't know what's sleep, anymore."

"Sorry, am I keeping you up?"

"No, not at all!" he insists. "This is nice. Everyone keeps telling me I should go out more. Shitty and Lardo usually take him for a sleepover every week, but then I'm so tired the only thing I want to do is go to bed. And that's bound to change when the baby will be here. Ugh. Sorry, I know I sound pathetic."

Jack frowns. "No, not at all. And, uh, if you ever need a babysitter… I could fill in."

He gapes at him. Is he hearing this right? "Seriously?"

"Euh, yeah, I mean, I have a pretty busy schedule, but I'm free on most nights I don't have a game," he says, a bit sheepishly.

Eric blinks. "Goodness, thank you, that's duly noted."

Jack smiles and rubs a hand around the back of his neck. Eric lets his head against the back of the couch and looks out of the window. It's starting to snow, outside, but the living room is warm and comfortable. There's a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Jack is still looking at him.

"I—" Jack starts. "You can totally say no, but…"

He turns his head and raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"

Jack wraps his free hand around his ankle, and Eric stares, transfixed, remembering how ungodly those had felt on his skin.

Lord. Maybe he should stop drinking now.

"I was wondering… How did you get Elli?"

Oh.

"Oh."

"Never mind," Jack says, quickly. "That was stupid."

"No, not at all. It's just that it's a long story."

Jack licks his lower lip. "We have time. And more pie. Only if you want to, of course."

Eric lifts his head and straightens himself. Where should he start? All the important people in his life — apart from Jack — had been there when it happened. He always gives a quick rundown to those who have asked, but it's only fair to give Jack the full story.

"My cousin," he starts and crunches his eyes shut for a second. "Not really my cousin, more like the daughter of the cousin of my mom's cousin — that sort of thing, with big families, you know? She showed up at my door, five years ago, and told me she was pregnant." He remembers it with a strange vivacity, her standing on the porch of the first-floor apartment he shared with Connor at the time. "I was out to my parents for a while already," he says and feels Jack shifting on the couch.

"How did that go?"

"That's another story." He smiles. "It was mostly fine. Mama cried a bit and Coach… well, he didn't really acknowledge it at first. It took him a while, but he got there eventually."

"I'm glad," Jack says, gravely.

"Yeah, me too. Anyway. Miriam — the cousin — showed up on my doorstep and she was in a state… I guess she saw me in the role of the gay cousin living a life of debauchery in the big city," he says, rolling his eyes a bit at that, "and asked me for my help. She had dug herself in a corner: she was pregnant and didn't know who the father was. She didn't want to say much but it was kind of obvious that there were… drugs involved, some minor crime, too. A gang. Lord, I don't even know."

He looks away. It doesn't bode well if he's already getting emotional about it.

"I tried to help her out. I really did. But she was eighteen," (Jack sucks a breath in,) "and she was terrified. Goodness, I can only imagine. She didn't want anyone at home to know, and from what I understood, the people she was… hanging out with were not happy either. So I let her stay with us — I had a boyfriend at the time — and we talked about different… options."

That part doesn't get better with time. In fact, he's pretty sure it only gets worse.

"She didn't want the baby, that much was clear. And there are so many options… She made up her mind and I drove her to— I drove her to the clinic."

He sniffs, and Jack's hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing a bit.

"I know— I know," he says, trying not to cry too hard, "it's her decision. I'm not against it. I've never been against it, fuck, I drove her there. I would have gotten inside and waited for her, and I would have come home that night and nothing would have changed at all. But now when I think about it, I think of Elli and— he wouldn't be here. We nearly—"

There are two arms around him as Jack pulls him close against his chest, and Eric lets himself cry. Not cry, _sob_.

He's never really told that part to anyone, apart from Connor who was there at the time, who asked him that night in a condescending tone what exactly Miriam was going to do now since she didn't go through with it. And what _they_ were going to do.

He sobs, because there's still so much guilt, and guilt he doesn't understand. Guilt because he nearly ended it all before it began, guilt because he shouldn't feel guilty in the first place. Women have their damn right over their bodies, and he rationally agrees with that, but there isn't anything rational about this. It's infuriating, and he's tired and being pathetic again, crying all over Jack's shirt.

"It's fine, Bitty," Jack whispers in his ear. "You're fine, _Elli's_ fine. You made the right decisions, the right calls. As always. You let her choose, you went with her, you helped her along the way."

"When she— she got scared— I tried to— to convince her—"

"You were helping her make the right call. It's not an easy decision to make, but you listened to her. You can't start thinking about the what-ifs, or you'll run yourself mad. What you're thinking about right now, that didn't happen. Look at me," Jack says, his hands soft on either side of Eric's face. "Look at me, Bits. That didn't happen. You have Elli now, and he's a wonderful, bright kid."

"Yeah?" he asks, trying to smile.

"Of course," Jack says, bringing him back against his chest. "And it's okay to feel different ways about something. Even if those feelings are conflicting," he adds, and it sounds right out of the mouth of a therapist, which, well… might be the case.

After a minute or two, he pushes himself away from Jack's arms. "Would you have—" he starts, and a box of tissues materializes in his hands. "I'm sorry, you're right. Of course, you're right."

"Don't apologize," Jack says, gently.

"All right," he says, taking a big, shaky breath. "Where was I? We were— we were in the parking lot, and you know, there's always like one or two protesters at those clinics, and it was enough to scare Miriam. They were confirming everything her family taught her — unmarried sex is a sin, abortion is a ticket to hell, you know how it goes. She got scared and decided to have the baby and put him up for adoption. I made her stay with us. Well, only with me, since Connor and I broke up."

"Because she was staying at your place?" There is clear judgment in Jack's tone.

"That was one of the reasons. The other one was that I was working too much, which apparently justified him fucking his coworker in our bed, but whatever."

"Holy fuck," Jack lets out, straightening himself on the couch as if he's about to spring on his feet and go punch someone. "I'm sorry. What an asshole."

"Yeah. I was glad it was over, to be honest, but I didn't need to find out that way, ugh."

He liked Connor, even though he felt like it was more of a comfortable relationship than a passionate one. That was fine by him at the time — he was approaching twenty-four, and it seemed like everyone else around him was already paired up. Lord, to be that age again, fearful to miss the train of life…

It had been his longest relationship but they resented each other at the end. Connor wanted them to be together all the time, to the point he would make snide remarks about Eric working overtime to make ends meet. Not that Connor ever understood anything about that, considering he was from a pretty comfortable family. The whole Miriam thing didn't help, and Eric isn't the type to take venom without biting back. But Connor cheating on him still broke his heart, and it didn't help when Connor tried to manipulate him by promising eternal love and devotion.

Thank you, next.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Jack sneers. "I hope I never get to meet him."

Eric snorts because that would be a sight: all of Jack's 200 pounds, against Connor's mere 140. "I think he'd run the other way."

"Good," Jack says, with a determined nod.

"Back to the story," he says, with a slight smile. "So, we split, and I kept an eye on Miriam because I suspected she wasn't entirely done with her… business, and I sure as hell wasn't going to let her get back on drugs or anything while she was pregnant. And then, she went into labor two months early."

Jack makes a sound, but Eric goes on because he needs to get over that part.

"It lasted fifteen hours." He can remember every single second of it. "The longest night of my life. But then, at the end of it… He was so tiny. Lord, you wouldn't believe how tiny he was. His little fingers, his _toes_!" He grins — it's a good memory, even though it's also a scary one. "Only 4.2 pounds. Can you imagine? A fully functioning human being weighing 4.2 pounds?"

Jack's eyes widen. "I'm not sure I can…"

"Wait, I'll show you," Eric says, picking his phone from his back pocket. "He was so silent at first, I thought there was something wrong, but then he screamed the whole room down. Miriam… She didn't want to do anything with him. Not even hold him, or—"

He breathes in again and notices that Jack's hand hasn't left his shoulder for all this time, his thumb tracing small circles over his shirt.

"Not that she could, they were taking him away and they rolled her out. That was the last time I saw her. When I asked they told me she left the hospital that morning, and lord knows where she is now. They placed Elli in the NICU, and I couldn't let him on his own. He had no one, Jack, _no one_. So I visited him, every day. I got to name him. And the first time I held him… I was in love. I know it's something all parents say but there are no words to describe that first moment. You go on thinking you know what love is, but that's nothing compared to what happens at that moment." He smiles to himself. "He wasn't even mine, but I already knew I would do anything for him. I would die for him, on the spot, no questions asked. I'm not even being dramatic," he adds, with a chuckle.

"He was already yours," Jack says, and Eric nods.

"The nurse would have agreed with you. Apparently, I had that one special look on my face," he laughs. "I liked the idea, but it scared me shitless, too. I was twenty-four, single, with no clue how to raise a child."

"You've always been good with kids."

"The perks of having an extended family, yeah, but we're talking about raising a kid, here. And sometimes, love isn't enough."

"But you did it."

He nods. "I did. Just the thought of seeing him go with another family… I called Shitty, and he lawyered his way through adoption papers. It took a while, but Elli was mine. That's how Shitty started working with kids, by the way, if you were wondering."

Jack's eyebrows quirk up. "He never told me that."

"I think he took us falling out pretty seriously. We should probably gift him a weekend at the spa, or something."

Jack chuckles and Eric knows they're both thinking the same: Shitty's naked ass lounging at the spa, aviators over his eyes, a margarita that has probably appeared from thin air in one hand.

"We probably should, yeah," Jack says. "In the end, you managed, with Elli?"

Eric sighs. "I sure did. It wasn't easy, especially at first, but my mom came to live with me for a while, bless her, and Rosaline let me get last-minute parent leave at the bakery. But eventually, my mom went back home and I was left alone with the little one." He chuckles. "It felt like the police would burst in at some point and ask me what the hell I thought I was doing. I know that twenty-four-year-old people have kids all the time, but I barely felt like a functioning adult at the time."

"Been there, yeah," Jack says, his voice low.

"So you can imagine. I was scared all the time, and Elli didn't help, lord knows that baby cried a lot. And it was some kind of desperate crying that left me thinking I had forgotten something about babies that no one ever told me, like they need to be rolled around three times in their cots when the sun is setting or something."

"Do they?" Jack teases, chuckling, and Eric gives him a look.

"I was so damn tired and he just _kept crying_ , ugh. At some point, I thought it'd be like that forever, but then he started learning words, and we could _communicate_ if you can believe that."

He presses one hand to his cheek and remembers he's still holding his phone in the other.

"Oh, let me show you."

He opens his camera roll, goes a few years back to the first picture he ever took of Elli: only a few hours old, sleeping in the NICU plastic cot, a mess of wires and tubes tied to his tiny body. Eric's gently holding on to Elli's fist with two fingers, and his hand looks huge in comparison. He tilts the screen towards Jack.

"Wow," Jack breathes out, leaning in closer. "Didn't know they made them that small."

" _Right_?"

He settles against Jack's side and shows him picture after picture: the first photo of him and Elli together as he's holding him, sitting down in a rocking chair in the NICU, taken by Lardo on the first time she visited Elli. There are a couple of these in which he's smiling at the camera, dark circles under his eyes. Another one shows him nearly in the same position but fast asleep, his head on his shoulder, Shitty crouching beside the chair and grinning at the camera, finger-gunning the small bundle in Eric's arms.

Jack snorts at that.

"You think I was in love with that boy when I first saw him? Please imagine Shitty," he laughs, even though he knows it's apples and oranges. He swipes to the next picture, which happens to be a video, and one he knows well. "There you go," he says, and presses on play.

_It's Shitty, sitting in the same rocking chair, arms open, looking somewhere above the camera. "Bring it on, Bits. Uncle Shitty is motherfucking ready."_

"Ugh," Eric says, through Jack's laughter, "there was no talk about adopting but Shitty already decided he was _uncle_."

"To be fair, anyone would like to have Shitty as an uncle."

 _Shitty is holding Elli now, bringing him closer to his face. "One day you'll be sixteen and you'll be in trouble of epic proportions that will scare your dad shitless if he learns and you'll call_ me _."_

Shitty's voice is tight with emotion, and he whispers the words as if Eric isn't a meter away from him and hearing it all.

"You don't say," Eric chuckles, answering Jack's previous statement. Truth be told, he could have used a Shitty himself before his years at Samwell.

He swipes again, as it's Lardo's turn to hold Elli, putting him to sleep instantly with the strange, calming power she's always had over him. There are approximately a bajillion more pictures of Elli alone, Elli with Eric, Elli finally at home with him, Elli with the gang, and Jack sits through them all. There's a picture of Ransom with a chubby Elli propped against his chest as they're watching the snowfall through the window. Another one with Holster this time, as they're dressing Elli in his first tiny SMH jersey — Eric still doesn't know where they got that. Dex building Legos with an Elli definitely too young to understand whatever law of physics is being taught to him, and Nursey reading him Neruda, as Elli listens raptly, eyes wide. There's a couple of pictures of that time he went to see Chowder and Farmer in California, Elli and his slightly-older cousin Claire sitting side by side in matching teal outfits.

"I'm sorry I missed all that," Jack whispers, after Eric's closed his phone, to save the last percentage of his battery.

"You're here now," Eric says because he's been dwelling on the past too much, these last days. "You don't have to miss anything anymore."

No, he doesn't: it takes a village to raise a child, but this particular village was missing just one person. Eric found him again.

Jack smiles back at him, and a companionable silence sets between them as they get a second serving of pie and watch quietly as the snow accumulates around the bay windows. It's not exactly like it was eight years ago but it doesn't have to be — this is even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Bitty tells Jack that his cousin, Miriam, showed up pregnant on his doorstep a few years ago. He let her stay with him and his boyfriend (they broke up sometime when Miriam was there). Miriam did not want to keep the baby so she considered abortion, and Bitty drove her to the clinic. She got scared seeing protesters, so she decided not to have the abortion. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your comments, they are highly appreciated! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features two songs -- the youtube links are in the end notes!

A minute after he sinks into his hot bath, the bathroom's doorknob turns in a slow, unnerving motion.

"Daddy?"

He tries not to sigh, as Elli peaks into the bathroom. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"I'm done with my drawing."

"Maybe you could do another one."

"No, I want to sit with you," Elli declares.

Of course. He's had the craziest day: he spent the morning going over some technicalities with his agent, then edited a video while eating lunch, and spent the rest of the afternoon at the bakery after a quick jog. He wasn't even baking, but filling in for the sick cashier, and if he knows everyone is tired from this never-ending winter, it's not a reason to be an asshole client _either_. And it feels like his day has barely started: Mama promised to call, and then Jack's coming over for dinner to watch a movie with him and Elli.

Eric would like to have five minutes alone in the bath. Is that too much to ask?

Elli closes the door and hoists himself on top of the toilet lid. "Daddy, I am going to sing a song and you have to guess what it is, okay?"

Apparently, he doesn't have much of a choice. "All right."

Even before he starts, Eric knows Elli is going to choose _Let It Go_ , so he lets him hum a few verses before he makes the correct guess. "Mmmh," he says. " _Let It Go_?"

Batting his legs in the air, he hums a single note and clears his throat. "No, I'm gonna start again. Unless you know?"

Eric chuckles. "Not after a single note, sweetheart, no."

"Okay-dokay."

Elli starts humming again, and Eric sinks further into the bath until the warm water covers his shoulders. Elli 'sings' for a good while, and when he's done, there's a moment of silence.

"Daddy? Are you 'sleep?"

"No, no," he says, blinking as he opens his eyes again. "I don't know what the song is, though. The friend song from Toy Story?"

"No!"

"Uh, the song from Moana?" he asks because he's blanking.

"No!" Elli laughs.

"I give up, then."

Elli smiles, victorious. "It's the elephant song!"

Eric frowns. "The elephant song? Where is it from?"

"I made it up!"

Eric groans, but he can't keep himself from giggling with Elli, although for a different reason. That boy is going to be the death of him. A suffocating, loving death, but still. "Maybe we should change the game, a bit?"

"No, I don't wanna play anymore. Do I sing well, Daddy?"

"You sing very well, sweetheart." Better than him, anyway, which isn't hard to achieve, but still.

"Aw, I love you, Daddy."

It's moments like these that make up for the bath intrusions and the singing. Although, in retrospect, the singing is precious too. "I love you too, Elli."

Elli squirms on top of the lid. "How much?"

Enough to let him sing while he's trying to take a bath.

"Hmmm, let me think." He brings his index finger an inch away from his thumb. "This much."

Elli laughs, that wonderful belly-laughter children have perfected like it's the funniest thing Eric has ever said. "No!"

"No?"

"No, more!"

Eric gasps. "More than that? Then, maybe… This much?" He widens his fingers another inch.

"No!" Elli slides off the lid, and hands curling around Eric's fingers, trying to pry them apart as far as they can go. "That much!"

"Oh!" Eric lets out as if realizing something. " _That_ much?"

"More, more!"

He raises both his index fingers five inches apart, and shows Elli. "Like that?"

Elli laughs and pushes on both of Eric's hands until they're so far away he can't quite reach. "Like that!"

"I see." Eric takes a moment, pretending to consider if such a thing could be possible. "That's a lot, though, are you sure?"

"Yes!" Elli sits down on his knees and crosses his arms over the rim of the tub, on which he rests his head. "You're silly. Tell me. No joke."

"I love you to the moon and back, sweetheart," Eric says and bumps Elli's nose with the tip of his finger.

Elli beams at him, but the smile fades away as he rolls his head to let his cheek rest against the back of his hands. Eric can always tell when Elli's about to share something important because he's usually a bomb of energy about to go off. This time, Elli sighs so hard that all the air in his lungs seems to have left his body. Lord, his son is a drama queen. But then, Eric guesses, they learn such things from their parents.

"Daddy, I have a problem."

Eric frowns. "What's going on?"

"I think I have a girlfriend."

He sits up in the bath so fast the movement creates a small wave that nearly spills over.

He clears his throat, trying to contain his surprise. "A girlfriend?" What? Why? When? How? "You _think_?" he adds before he corrects himself — no need to sound panicked about it. "I mean, why ain't you sure?"

"'Cause it's Maya and she's my friend but Tommy at school said that when a girl sleeps beside you at nap time it's 'cause she wants to be your girlfriend and today Maya sleeped beside me at nap time, is that true?"

" _Slept_ ," he corrects. The tension melts away from his shoulders: Maya's been Elli's best friend since they both arrived at preschool. Elisa, Maya's mom, is a single parent as well and they developed a friendship over the months, planning regular sleepovers for the kids. They even went out together a few times, hiring a babysitter for the two kids and treating themselves to a restaurant meal. Eric wonders how she will react if Maya tells her the same story. Which he doubts because it seems like Maya isn't aware she's in a relationship at the moment. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe she wants to spend nap time with you because you're best friends."

Elli cocks his head to the side as if he hadn't considered that fact before. Maybe it's all a bit of a ruse because _he_ wants to be her boyfriend. Lord, Eric thought he would get at least another couple of years before having to give relationship advice.

"But how do I know if she wants to be my friend or my girlfriend?"

"Well, I think the right thing to do would be to ask her."

Elli blushes and looks down. "No, that's silly… What if she says no?"

"Then you have to accept her decision, and you can stay friends like you are now."

"Okay," Elli sighs. "Maybe I could make her a gift?"

"Yeah! We could bake something for her," Eric suggests.

"And then she'll say yes?"

He wants to groan. "Maybe, or maybe not. You can't force anyone to be your girlfriend or boyfriend, sweetheart, that's not how it works. But giving her a gift would be a nice gesture, even if you only stay friends."

"We can bake a muffin!"

He chuckles. "Sure, we can do that. Not today, though, your Moo Maw's about to call, and then Jack is coming over."

"Okay. Tomorrow?"

"Sure, sweetheart."

"This is really, really hard, but then if I give her a gift and she says yes it is really really easy." _Well, actually—_ "Daddy? Why you don't have a boyfriend?"

Eric laughs, mostly out of surprise than anything else.

Elli knows about him, of course, and that if there should be a third person in their lives, it would be a man and not a woman. They even discussed different family types at preschool, which Eric chose carefully, to make sure Elli wouldn't be bullied for having a single gay parent. Still, it's not a subject they talked about in depth in the past, so Eric can give him that, at least.

"Well," he says, trying to sound casual, "it's a bit easier when you're at preschool than when you're my age, sweetheart. I'm pretty busy because I have a lot of work, so I don't really have the time to find a boyfriend. Besides, we're pretty neat together, just the two of us, aren't we? I wouldn't want to have a boyfriend who isn't friends with you, too."

"You could find a boyfriend who is already friends with me and you!" Elli says, like it’s the simplest thing in the universe. "And you give him a gift or you bake him a muffin and then you're boyfriends!"

He laughs. "You're very sweet, Elli, but it doesn't quite work like that. And who would be that boyfriend, that we both know of?"

It takes Elli a few seconds to come up with the perfect answer. "Uncle Shitty!"

He bursts out laughing, covering his face with his hands. Oh, lord. _Shitty and him_ — No, he can't even think about it.

When he's able to open his eyes again without fully crying of laughter — accompanied by Elli, but not for the same reasons — he clears his throat and considers how to break the news to Elli, that his favorite uncle is definitely _not_ going to become his dad in the future.

"I think— I think Uncle Shitty is very much in love with Aunt Lardo, sweetheart. And they're about to have a baby."

"But they ain't married."

Ah, yes, marriage, the pinnacle of love. For some reason, every couple is by definition married in Elli's mind, and it was a shock when he learned Shitty and Lardo weren't. He cried so much it took Eric a few minutes to calm him down, and a few more to explain to him that you can be in love and live together without being married. Elli's still so hung up about it that Eric's half-convinced Shitty and Lardo are going to tie the knot just to bring that boy some peace, one day.

"They don't have to be married to be happy together."

"When Maya is my girlfriend," Elli says, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me!"

Eric blanks at what to say to that, but he's saved by his phone, which starts ringing by the sink. "Can you get that, sweetheart? It's your Moo Maw, I bet she's dying to talk to you."

He stands in the bath and reaches for the towel, as Elli fetches the phone, and answers it. "Moo Maw!"

Eric opens the door for him, and watches as Elli strolls down the corridor, his free hand on his hip, not unlike Eric himself when he's on the phone. He's already telling her about Maya, and Suzanne is bound to be delighted with the news.

It's cute. It doesn't have to mean much, apart from the fact that Elli's good friends with her and is trying to emulate the adults around him. It's what kids do. Still, it doesn't stop his heart from pinching in his chest at the thought of it. His kid is growing up. It's already going so fast.

He shakes his head. There's no need to mull over that, not when they lead a happy, busy life.

He gets to his room and dresses up, something nice, but not _too_ nice — is he overthinking this? — and steps back into the main room of the apartment. Elli is sitting on the couch, legs batting in the air, talking to his grandmother.

Eric listens to him, a smile on his face, as he busies himself with the cookbook. He's nearly done with it, and he'd better be since his agent is waiting for the final draft by the end of spring. If "nearly" means he only has to solve the jam conundrum, figure out the placement of a few recipes and edit all the accompanying vignettes.

"Daddy," Elli says, stepping into the kitchen. "Moo Maw wants to talk to you know. Can you turn the TV on, please, I wanna watch Pokémon?"

"All right." He puts the phone against his ear, as he follows Elli to the living room. "Hi, Mama, how are you?"

"Dicky!" Suzanne says as if it's a surprise Eric should be at the end of the line even though she called him in the first place.

He listens to the latest Madison gossip while he fiddles with the TV until Pokémon is on.

"Your Daddy's is fine too," Suzanne concludes, as Eric steps back into the kitchen, an eye on Elli. "He's still at practice at this hour, but he should be back in half an hour if you're still around. How are you?"

"We're fine. I guess you heard about the _girlfriend_ news already," he adds, and Suzanne makes an excited sound. "I'm afraid I'll miss Coach, though, I have guests tonight."

"Oh, _guests_?" She sounds surprised that Eric still has a social life. Ugh.

"Yeah, uh, do you remember Jack… Zimmermann? From Samwell?"

They've met just the once, but judging by the way Suzanne behaved around Bad Bob… She ain't going to forget about the Zimmermanns anytime soon.

"Of course I remember Jack! That nice young man." Eric rolls his eyes. Clearly, they don't remember Family Weekend the same way, not when it comes to Jack. "Didn't you two have some sort of a falling out?"

To say the least, but he never told Suzanne the details of it, and he'd rather keep it that way. "We did, but we met again a while back, and, uh, we're hanging out, I guess."

"That's wonderful news, Dicky, I'm glad to hear it." A pregnant silence, and Eric braces himself for what he knows she is going to ask next. The Pokemon theme song is playing, and he's going to have that tune in his head for the rest of the night. "Isn't he… Isn't he… like you? I've heard, a while back, it was all over the news."

She has never said the exact words, and by now, Eric's made his peace with it. It could be a lot worse. "Uh, not exactly," he says because if Suzanne isn't going to be specific, he can't confirm. "But yeah."

"And tonight… Oh, Dicky, is it a date?"

" _No!_ What's up with y'all?"

First Lardo, then Elli, and now his mother. Truth is, Suzanne has been dead set on finding him a partner for a while, now. It doesn't come from a bad place, and he knows she worries about him, but it's starting to get annoying. The last time his parents came to Providence, Suzanne had thrown him out of his apartment, told him to go and have some fun. He never thought he would see the day when his own mother would be concerned about his sex life — or lack thereof.

In any case, her obsession with him being paired-off is becoming slightly unhealthy.

"Mama, no," he says. "We haven't talked for like, eight years. We're just friends."

"But he's such a wonderful gentleman. And the hockey he plays… He ain't bad looking, either. Don't be like that!" she fusses when he makes a sound. "I've seen interviews! You know how your Daddy is about hockey, since you played, and your Jack is all over the place."

He passes a hand over his face. Jack was never his, to begin with.

"Has he met Elliot?" she asks, pressing him.

"Yeah, once. We went to see one of his games."

" _And?_ "

"What do you want me to say, Mama? He likes him. He likes kids."

It remains to be confirmed if Elli likes him back, but Eric guesses he'll find out tonight. He really needs this to go well. He wants Jack back in his life — as a _friend_ — and Elli getting along with him is a condition to that happening. Well, not a condition, but it would make Eric's life a whole lot easier.

Obviously, none of that comes to Suzanne's mind as she exclaims, "See!"

He sighs. "Mama… I doubt he's interested."

"Oh, hush. He would be a fool not to be. A charming boy like you!"

Ugh, he could do without this today. "Mama…"

"All right, all right, you don't want to talk about it," she chuckles. "How's the book coming along?"

He rambles on for a few minutes about the cookbook, and the discussion gets heated once they start talking about jam, only to be disturbed by a knock on the door.

"Lord, that's gotta be Jack," he says and doesn't register what his mother answers back.

He opens the door, smothering the phone against his shoulder. Jack is standing on the other side, coat hanging over his arm.

"Hi." Jack smiles, and it's slightly awkward. "Oh, uh, I brought this for tonight."

He presents him with a bottle of wine — a nice one.

"Goodness, thank you, you didn't have to!"

He takes it, and goes for a quick hug, forgetting about the phone he is still holding until Suzanne's distant voice reminds him.

" _Dicky? Dicky? Are you still here? Is that Jack I hear?_ "

It's loud enough for the both of them to hear, and if Eric rolls his eyes, Jack grins at him. "Hi, Suzanne," he says, in the phone's direction.

" _Jack! Hello, it's been so long! Dicky, don't be rude and put me on speakerphone!_ "

Like hell that's gonna happen. "Mama, really?" he says into the phone. "I'm gonna call you back, all right? Tell Coach to take care, and to be careful with that hip of his."

He bids her a quick goodbye and steps into the kitchen with Jack.

"Sorry about that," Eric says. "I didn't think the call would last this long but then she got me talking about jam."

"How are they?" Jack asks, sitting down on a stool. "Is your father injured?"

"Oh, nothing like that, he's got arthritis, though, and he's being… Well, you know. He just ignores it. Bless him, that hip ain't gonna heal if he's up and about all day long."

Jack's lips stretch into an even bigger, shakier smile.

Eric quirks an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"It's just… your accent."

He whips the hand towel off his shoulder and swats it at Jack. "Hush, it's nothing you haven't heard before," he says, trying to tamper his accent down a bit. Ugh, it's hateful, and he always forgets when he slips back, talking to his family.

He's about to chirp Jack about his own accent when Elli pops his head over the couch's edge.

"Hi there," Jack says, but Elli doesn't answer.

"Come on, sweetheart, come to say hello to our guest, at least."

There's a thud as Elli rolls off the couch and scrambles towards the kitchen. He wraps his hand around a free stool's leg and looks up at Jack. "Hello, Msser Jack," he says, his tone cautious. "Thank you a lot for your gift. Number One is a good teddy and he fights monsters at night with S'nor Bun and the others, he was shy the first night but they're friends now."

"Ha, I'm glad to hear that." Jack reaches for the wrapped package he's got on his lap, something Eric hadn't noticed before. "I have a gift for you."

Eric shoots him a look because _of course_ Jack brought a gift. " _Il va attendre une cadeau tous les fois, maintenant_ ," [He'll wait a gift every time, now,] he says, as Elli tears through the wrapping paper, after a quick, distracted thank you to Jack.

" _Tant mieux_ ," [Just as well,] Jack says, and Eric rolls his eyes at him, with more fondness than anything else.

"Whoa, Daddy, look!" Elli squeals, lifting the tiniest Falconer's jersey Eric has ever seen.

Elli turns it around, revealing the number 90 embedded in the back — Parson's, Lord — along with the block letters spelling BITTLE across the shoulders. It looks so impossibly small.

"Oh my, that is _too_ cute."

"'Sw'awesome! Thank you, Msser Jack!" Elli says as he bundles up the jersey against his chest. "Can I give you a thank-you hug?"

"Yeah, sure," Jack says, blinking through his evident surprise.

He gets down on his knees and Elli wraps his arms around Jack's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're very welcome, buddy," Jack chuckles, once they've separated. "I wanted to thank you for the great drawing you did for me. It's up on my fridge and everyone's been asking me about the artist."

Pleased but evidently trying to remain modest, Elli stands there twisting his fingers, with no answer in sight. Instead, he turns towards Eric and shoves the jersey towards him. "Daddy, help me put it on, please!"

"All right," he chuckles, along with Jack. "Arms up!" he asks and pulls the jersey over Elli's head.

"It's a bit big," Jack says.

"It's fine, he's growing so fast, it'll last a few months at least. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Daddy, can we watch the movie now?"

It's the reason Jack is here, after all. They got talking about Elli's obsession with Frozen on their last phone call after Jack caught Eric mindlessly humming Let It Go.

"I got to get him interested in another movie," Eric had told Jack. "So we can stop watching Frozen on repeat."

They established a quick list of movies before Eric confessed they hadn't seen The Lion King together yet.

"But it's like… the best Disney movie out there," Jack said because of course he would.

"I know, I know. I like it too, but I might need some emotional support if we're going to watch it."

And just like that, Jack had offered to visit on his next free night, to watch a Disney movie, of all things. As if he doesn't have anything more important to do in the few hours he isn't required at the rink.

"There is no way I am giving you popcorn before dinner, mister," Eric tells Elli. "We have to eat first."

The food isn't ready yet, so Elli returns to his Pokémon episode while Eric and Jack stay in the kitchen, discussing the Falcs' most recent loss.

"Y'all will get them next time," he says, operating the pots and pans at the same time. They lost 5-1 against the Caps and Jack's tone is still bitter.

"Yeah, we'll see. We really didn't give them our best game. We had to pull Boski there at the end, which doesn't happen often." Jack shakes his head. "Now everyone's frustrated. That's a big loss right before the playoffs, not that we lost our spot, but…"

"Nobody likes to lose."

"Right. We're playing the Aces in two weeks, that's going to cheer up Tater, and hopefully, it'll bleed through on the rest of the team."

"Mashkov and Parson, uh?" Eric smirks. "I wonder how's _that_ working."

Jack chuckles. "You'd be surprised. They've been together forever, now. I guess they balance each other out."

"If you say so." He has his doubts, but he's ready to trust Jack on this one. "And, uh, you don't mind when Parson's around?"

He remembers too well the time Parson showed up at Samwell, trying to convince Jack to drop school while simultaneously calling him a piece of shit.

"Ah, no. We spoke after the first game we played against each other. We're… friends, now."

Eric shoots him a look. "Really?" he asks, because Parson would be the type to bury the hatchet for means of further manipulation.

"Really," Jack insists, "in fact—"

Eric's phone rings and the screen displays his agent's name. Good lord, it's six in the evening, but he knows for a fact that Eleanor never stops working.

"Sorry," he says, but when he goes to silence the call, he hesitates.

"Take it," Jack says. "Looks important."

Eric sighs. "My agent is the sort of person who will always make you believe that."

"Take it," Jack repeats, and Eric answers the call.

" _Hi, Eric, how are you? I hope I'm not disturbing you at the moment?_ "

"Hi, Eleanor! Actually, I'm in the middle of something," he adds, a bit shortly.

" _I'm only asking for two minutes. It's about the jam recipe._ "

He sighs. It's kind of his fault, he knows, not being on schedule and all.

"Sorry," he tells Jack. "Do you mind if I take a minute?"

"Of course not. Do what you need."

Eric points his chin towards the living room, where Elli is still watching TV. "Could you keep an eye on him? Thank you, _thank you_ ," he whispers after Jack nods.

He goes down the hallway and closes the door to his bedroom, laptop in hand. Two minutes turn into five, then ten, then fifteen, and after twenty, he tells Eleanor that he really needs to get going. He might have lied about his phone being on low battery, but it's less rude that way.

There's no sight of Jack when he comes back to the kitchen, to a pair of socked feet dangling over the edge of the couch.

"You two look cozy," Eric says, as he comes to lean against the back of the couch.

Jack is lying down, Elli scooted under his arm, as they're both staring at the small Nintendo Jack is holding up. Elli tends to be shy around strangers, but once the initial barriers are down, they're down for good. It seems like Jack has earned that place.

"We're playing Pokémon!" Elli exclaims, not even bothering to look up.

"I can see that. Didn't know you knew how to play," he adds, to Jack.

"I spent most of my childhood on the road, of course I know how to play Pokémon. It's not hard."

He snorts. "Okay, Elle Woods."

Elli must have told him that Eric can barely wrap his head around the game. He knows it's not difficult, but he finds it hard to care about made-up animals even for Elli's sake.

"Okay," Jack asks Elli, "water attack, or normal attack?"

"Water!"

"I'm going to leave you two to it," Eric says. Clearly, they don't need him hanging around. "But only until dinner time. And if Jack says he's had enough, you have to listen to him, okay?"

Elli hums, too distracted to care, while Jack lifts his chin upwards shoots Eric a smile. There's a streak of sunlight that crosses over his face, making one of his eyes nearly grey. "We'll be fine."

He lifts his hand to run his fingers through Jack's hair when— shit. It's not something he's supposed to be doing. He blinks and diverts to squeeze Elli's shoulder, who tries to squirm away.

"No, we're fighting an Abra now!"

"All right, all right, have fun."

Half an hour later, Eric is setting up the table for the three of them on the kitchen island. He's been listening along to Jack and Elli's conversations about game strategy — they're just _so cute_.

"D'you wanna capture that Bidoof or are we fighting him?"

"Capture!"

"You sure? You already got a few of these."

"Capture! They're like big fluffy capybaras 'cept they're hamsters."

"All right," Jack chuckles, "we'll do that and then we've got to pause the game and go help your Daddy set the table, okay?"

There's clear disappointment in Elli's voice, although he agrees with Jack. He must be a better Pokémon… _trainer?_ than Eric is.

"So," Eric explains, once they're all seated around the island, "we've got meat pies, mashed potatoes, carrots, and peas."

He would have done something a bit more elaborate, but even though Elli isn't picky, boiled carrots and peas are the only way he'll eat them. It's bland, and he would have prepared another version for Jack if he had the time to.

"Can you pass me the peas, sweetheart?"

"Sure," Jack replies.

He reaches for the bowl and hands it to Eric, Elli moving half-a-second behind him.

_Oh my god_.

Eric stares at him, eyebrows high on his forehead, as the bowl hangs in the air between them. It takes Jack a moment, then another, and…

"Oh. Uh. Sorry."

It's too good not to laugh at, as he takes the bowl off Jack's hands, and even Elli snickers a bit. "Silly Msser Jack. _I'm_ sweetheart!"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Jack insists, looking down at his lap, his face a shade redder than what it was a moment ago. "This looks amazing, Bittle. I've never seen meat pie shaped like that before?"

It's an evident change of subject, but Lord, he told himself to play nice tonight.

"They're Nigerian meat pies because someone likes the shape," he adds, with a wink at Elli. They're half-moons of dough and meat, and Elli loves to eat them directly with his hands. "All right, y'all, let's dig in."

"They're fun!" Elli explains, lifting one in his hand, showing Jack.

"They are," Jack says. "Are you working on these for the book?"

"Ugh, not at the moment."

He stops and watches Elli, who has decided to bite off the tiny edged crust of the pie first, meat free-falling on his plate and placemat. He pushes Elli's plate towards him, catching a few crumbs falling.

"Elliot, if you can't eat these without making a mess, I'm going to cut them for you." Seriously? They have a guest. He taught that boy better than that. "No," he answers Jack, as Elli starts handling his pie with more care. "I'm still working on the jam thing. I made a few meat pies recently because I'm not so sure about their placement in the book…"

Which would never be solved by baking more of them, something Jack picks on right away. "So now that your job is baking, you're procrastinating by baking something else?"

He rolls his eyes at Jack's smirk. "Don't you look so happy about it, mister."

"What's _prorasnating_?" Elli asks.

"It's when you delay an important task by doing something else."

"Like when you say you're not stopping your shower 'cos you're not done singing?"

Jack snorts, and Eric shakes his head. "No, that's called preserving good mental health."

"What's good _metal_ health?"

Eric ruffles through Elli's hair. "It's when you feel happy because you're singing in the shower."

Elli ponders that answer, seemingly for not very long, because he turns towards Jack and asks, "Msser' Jack, do you have a girlfriend?"

Jack's fork clinks against his plate.

"Elliot!"

Elli glances at Eric. "I'm sorry Msser' Jack, do you have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, 'cos that's okay too."

Eric presses one hand to his cheek. It's… not what he meant, but bless that boy. He glances at Jack, who is blinking, probably trying to think of an answer to a frankly nosy question.

"You don't have to call me mister, Elli," Jack says, with a smile. "And no, I don't have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend for that matter."

"It's okay," Elli answers Jack, with so much understanding in his tone he could have just been told Jack's most embarrassing secret. "Daddy doesn't have a boyfriend either."

Eric chokes on his wine, and it nearly comes out through his nose.

"What? 'S true!"

"Yes, everyone around this table is aware of that, Elliot, thank you."

He shuts his mouth the moment the words leave it — he didn't mean to be so bitter, but why did everyone choose _today_ to keep reminding him of that fact?

"Daddy," Elli says, deflating.

Eric sighs. Good, he's made things awkward, now. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just that it's not a very polite thing to ask other people, okay?"

"I was just sayin' because I got a girlfriend!"

_Here we go_.

Jack's eyebrows spring up. "Whoa, really?"

"Technically, she is not your girlfriend yet," Eric points out.

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me!" Elli says, not minding him at all. "Her name is Maya and she's my best friend and she's really funny and she sleeped beside me at nap time and Tommy says that means she wants to be my girlfriend and that also means I gotta marry her."

Jack glances at Eric, clearly trying to stay composed, and Eric shoots a look back at him. _I knooooow_ , he wants to say, but then he shouldn't laugh at his son's love life.

"She sounds like a great friend," Jack says, and Eric makes a mental note to come back to the topic of consent with Elli as soon as possible.

"She is! Daddy says we gonna bake something for her so she'll say yes."

Eric groans. "I said she'll _maybe_ say yes."

"Do you think that's gonna work?" Elli asks Jack because Eric has apparently turned invisible.

"Ha," Jack chuckles. "If something's gonna work, it's your Daddy's baking."

"Don't encourage him!" Eric laughs. Lord, is it him or is it hot in this kitchen, suddenly?

"See?" Elli says as he raises both of his hands, in a clear demonstration that the argument has been won. "We have to bake something. Muffins!"

"All right, all right, we'll try."

"Tomorrow?"

"If I have time, sure."

A shiver runs through Elli's body as if the prospect of baking something for Maya is an electric shock of renewed energy.

"Msser Jack, did you go to a lighthouse ever?"

Elli asks that question to every single person he knows — and usually gets a negative answer. This time, though, Jack nods. "Uh, yes, actually."

"No way!" Elli squeals, bouncing on the stool. "Tell me! Please?"

"Ha." Jack rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "It's been a while, I think it was with my school when we did a trip to the Maritimes."

"Was it very big?"

"Oh yeah, pretty big. There was a nice view once you got at the top, but the stairs were a good workout."

Elli asks him every possible question in the book, and Jack does his best to answer with as many details as possible. The discussion doesn't seem to bother him or bore him. In fact, Jack's got his focused face on, and he doesn't answer Elli curtly, as if he's an obstacle to having an actual, mature discussion with Eric. It's clear that he enjoys talking with Elli.

Eric excuses himself at some point to go to the bathroom. He takes a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror. Everything is going well. Elli likes Jack, and vice versa. Not that he doubted they would, but sometimes Jack can be complicated to understand, and Elli oscillates between intense shyness and knowing no boundaries. As he just demonstrated. Lord.

The chatter is still going on as he exits the bathroom, along with a lot of suspicious giggling, and it's when he's at the very end of the hallway that a single pea comes rolling on the floor and bumps against his foot.

"Elliot, what have I said about playing with food?"

Hands on his hips, he enters the kitchen only to witness _Jack Zimmermann_ making a pea float an inch above his mouth by blowing air at it, Elli cheering him on.

As soon as Eric's words resonate in the kitchen, Jack catches the pea with his mouth, and he and Elli turn their heads towards Eric in a single movement.

Jack's Adam apple bobs up and down as he swallows the pea. "Sorry."

"Jack Laurent Zimmermann," he says, faux-disciplinary, "what are you teaching my child?"

"Ooooh. Full name, biiiiig trouble, Msser Jack," Elli says, which he has most certainly learned from Dex and Nursey.

"I'll clean it up," Jack offers.

"Thank you. After we're done with dinner, though."

He sits down at the island, and Elli offers him a pea, holding it carefully on the tip of his fingers. "You try, Daddy!"

He sighs. "What have I just said, sweetheart?"

"But it's funny! Msser Jack says his daddy and mama teached him that."

"Yes," Jack tells Elli, "but the rules in my house are different from the rules here, and that's okay too."

"You learned that from your _parents_?" He can't imagine Bad Bob, or Alicia Zimmermann, ever trying to make peas… fly.

"Yeah, of course. It was a family thing. I thought everyone did that."

It feels counterproductive now that he's told Elli he shouldn't play with his food, but the boy is looking at him with puppy eyes, and frankly, Jack isn't far behind.

"Okay, _fine_. I'll try it once." Elli and Jack exchange a gleeful look. Elli raises his pea-bearing finger a bit, and Eric plucks the pea from him. He stares at it for a second. "And how are you supposed to do that?"

"Put your head back," Jack says, demonstrating at the same time, "hold the pea a centimeter above your mouth or so, and…" He lets go of the pea, blowing air at it at the same time, and it floats for a few seconds before it falls to the side, caught at the last minute by Jack's hand. Jack smirks at him. "Your turn."

This is about to get embarrassing. Eyeing the pea, he throws his head back and places the pea above his lips. He must have not blown hard enough, before the moment he lets go of the pea, it falls on his face and tries to enter his left nostril. He throws his head forward and slams his hand against his nose and mouth, snorting and laughing at the same time as the pea falls back down somewhere in his palm.

Both Elli and Jack start laughing at his ineptitude.

"Oh my lord," he says, as he goes to the trash and dunks the pea in it. "I am not doing that again."

"Nooo, Daddy, again!"

So, of course, he does.

They take turns, and Eric doesn't remember the last time he had that much fun during dinner. It reminds him of the kind of hectic energy of team breakfast at Samwell, and it's only now that he, Jack, Elli are horsing around that he realizes he's missed it.

They're finishing up the fifth round when Eric gives up — unlike Jack, he's barely able to make a pea float, and even Elli succeeded for a few seconds, just the once.

"Jack wins!" Elli declares, bouncing on his stool. "He's the best at blowing!"

Eric and Jack share a glance before they dissolve into laughter again. They're joined by Elli, and that makes them laugh even more because he has no idea why what he said is embarrassingly hilarious. Once they've calmed down, Jack's ears and cheeks are pink, and they remain so as they clean the table and the dishes. Eric would chirp him about it, but honestly, there isn't much to say. Eric's dated his fair share of guys, but… Jack Zimmermann? Pretty much up there, yeah.

Uuuugh. It's been _so_ long.

After cleaning up, they settle down on his old couch with a bowl of popcorn. It's been a while since Eric watched The Lion King — although it's an amazing movie, it hadn't been his favorite growing up. He just never really got into cartoons, for a reason he can't explain. Elli, in turn, is enthralled by the iconic dawn on the savannah opening. Maybe this will be the thing that will break the Frozen curse that has taken over the household.

As much as he's mentally prepared himself for _that scene_ , there are tears in his eyes the moment the music starts, almost like an instinctive reaction before anything happens on the screen. Elli has been half-hiding against his chest since the confrontation between Mufasa and Scar, and Eric himself has closed the few centimeters between him and Jack.

"Daddy?" Elli asks, his voice trembling, as Simba is approaching Mufasa's body. "Is he gonna be okay?"

He swallows, throat tight. How can he answer that? He would have never imagined that watching this part would be harder as a parent than as a kid, but just imagining for a brief second Elli without him—

No.

"Daddy," Elli says, still staring at the screen and fully crying now.

"Hey," Jack whispers, softly, as the arm he had on the back of the couch comes around Eric's shoulders.

"It's fine, baby," Eric finally manages to say. "Simba is going to be fine."

Which is one hell of an understatement, considering he just saw his father die before his eyes. Lord, why on Earth would anyone make their children watch this? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they should just rewatch Frozen again.

"I'm sad," Elli hiccups, fists bunching in Eric's shirt as he hugs him back.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. But I swear he's going to be fine."

"Hey," Jack says, with a nod towards the TV, "it's my favorite song."

Elli turns his head to the screen, and Eric can feel his tiny fists releasing his shirt, slowly. He throws Jack a look, who offers him a soft smile, because there isn't a chance in hell that Jack's favorite song is _Hakuna Matata,_ but it's the right distraction right now. It's placed appropriately in the plot and soon enough, Elli is laughing along, dramatic moments already far behind.

It's only when the movie ends that Eric notices Jack hasn't removed his arm from around his shoulders, but Elli is yawning and whatever thought materialized in Eric's head is pushed away for later analysis.

"To bed, with you," he tells Elli after a quick round table has proven that The Lion King is an amazing movie, and might even be a tiny, tiny bit superior to Frozen. He can't wait to show Elli Beyoncé's version of Can You Feel the Love Tonight, but it'll have to wait.

"Say goodbye to Jack, sweetheart."

"Can Msser Jack sing me a goodnight song, Daddy?"

Even though they've gone from lullabies to reading books in the evening for quite some time, it's something Elli requests quite often from his various uncles and aunts when they visit.

"Fine, but you have to ask Jack if he wants to, not me."

Elli turns towards Jack and clenches his fist in Jack's jeans. "Msser Jack, will you sing me a lullaby maybe please?"

Jack clears his throat. "Ha, it's just that I don't really sing well."

_Lie_ , he wants to point out, _you sing way better than me_ , but he doesn't want to put Jack on the spot, either.

"Please please please please please!"

Jack chuckles. "All right. Let's get you ready for bed and I'll think of something."

Jack comes back into the room once Elli's snuggling in bed with Number One under one arm, eyes still wide open from the earlier excitement from the movie. Eric knows that he's tired, though, so it won't take long.

"All right, I'll be in the kitchen," he tells Jack, because it's one thing to sing to a child, and another to sing in front of an audience. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Nighty night."

Eric smiles at them one more time, before he walks down the hallway, Jack's voice in his back, "So, er, I don't really know any lullabies in English."

"Why?"

"Well, my mom used to sing me those in French."

"Why?"

"Because I was raised speaking French."

"You can sing in French, Msser Jack, that's okay."

"Okay," he says, and clears his throat.

Eric putters around the kitchen as he listens to Jack's soft singing.

_Comme les garçons et les filles de mon âge connaîtrai-je bientôt ce qu'est l'amour_

_Comme les garçons et les filles de mon âge je me demande quand viendra le jour_

_Où les yeux dans ses yeux et la main dans sa main_

_J'aurai le cœur heureux sans peur du lendemain_

_Le jour où je n'aurai plus du tout l'âme en peine_

_Le jour où moi aussi j'aurai quelqu'un qui m'aime_

From what he understands, it's about boys and girls finding love, unlike the singer, wondering when it will happen to them. There's something melancholic, angsty about the song — the feeling of being left out, by others, by life, the fear of never finding that kind of love.

He props his chin against his palm and leans over the island, smiling to himself. It reminds him of the time he was thirteen and full of hormones, an uncomfortable truth at the back of his head that he hadn't dared to put a name on yet. The song bears it too, the hopelessness, the feeling of being too different to even deserve that kind of love. He remembers it too well, how it was before Samwell. Before Jack.

There's a moment of silence as Jack finishes the song, and Eric turns on his heels and opens the fridge to busy himself with something — _anything_.

"He's knocked out," Jack says, as he enters the kitchen.

"Aw, thank you, you didn't have to do that."

Jack chuckles. "Not sure anyone can say no to those puppy eyes."

"You're learning fast," Eric says. He closes the door and turns to face Jack. "That was a lovely song, by the way."

"Thanks, I guess my singing is not that bad if he can fall asleep to it."

"It really isn't, but you shouldn't take that as a criteria. I still have war flashbacks of Shitty trying to sing _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star_ to him once."

"Shit," Jack snorts. "I think I would have paid to see that happen. The one I sang is by Françoise Hardy, if you were wondering. She's French. From France, I mean."

"Your mom sang in French to you?"

"She did, sometimes. She always liked Hardy and even met her a few times. Listen to the original version, if you can, it's much better than what I did tonight."

"Will do."

They spend the rest of the evening talking about work, hockey and whisper excitedly about the latest sonogram Lardo and Shitty sent them of the baby. They don't want to know the baby's gender and are keeping the gender-neutral name they found a secret — no matter how hard he tried to extort the information with their favorite pies.

They bid each other goodbye as Eric's yawns get out of control, contaminating Jack until they're both quietly giggling in the kitchen.

"Thank you, again," Eric says, as they're both standing in the doorway. "That was pretty intense and I'm glad you were there."

"Ha, it's fine. That scene ended up being more intense than I remembered. I don't know if it makes sense."

"No, it does. Sorry I nearly cried on you again. Lord, I swear I'm not always like that, it's just been pretty wild, lately."

"It's fine, Bitty, really," Jack says. "Looks like you've been working hard."

"Right, _I'm_ the one working hard," he chirps. "But seriously, at some point, I thought it would be better to turn the TV off and never address that movie again. He's only four!"

"My mom always says you should show kids the sad and the scary stuff. It's like… You have to expose them to those feelings, but in a controlled environment, right?"

Eric hums, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the door. "That's actually good advice. Not sure if I'd be able to follow through, though."

"Hey," Jack says with a smile. "She did it to me, and I survived, eh?"

"You sure did." He doesn't know how long they've been standing in the doorway, but neither of them seems to be inclined to part. "Still, I'm glad you were here."

"Me too." Jack pauses. "I— euh— I'm glad— I mean, I'm glad Elli's all right around me."

"Are you kidding? He adores you. He usually doesn't open up to strangers that fast, especially not six-foot-tall hockey players."

Jack beams, so genuinely it makes Eric's heart go wobbly in his chest. "I'm glad. I'm really happy about that. I, uh, I want to be around, okay? For both of you."

"You are. Of course, you are, Jack."

"Good."

They stare at each other, and it's only when Eric smothers another yawn that Jack puts his hands up. "Okay, I'm definitely leaving now. Goodnight, Bittle."

"Goodnight, Jack. Good luck on your next game."

They hug, and Eric closes the door behind Jack. His shoulders drop. It went well. Everything went well. Elli loves Jack, and Jack loves Elli. Jack wants to stay around, for him and Elli.

The relief is so strong, tears prickle at the back of his eyes.

"Oh, stop it, you," he laughs at himself before he makes his way towards the bathroom.

An hour later, he's turning in bed, restless. He picks up his phone, checks notifications — nothing new, unsurprisingly — and opens Youtube to search for Françoise Hardy. He listens to the original version: it's a lovely song, but the words sounded so much better from Jack's mouth, the vowels more rounded, the voice deeper. He finds a translation, and even though the phrasing is awkward, Eric's initial thoughts about the song were right.

The translation leads him to another version — written and performed by Hardy herself, but this time in English. The lyrics are not the same, adapted to the language, and this time, they mention a search for a boy, unlike the French version, which remained gender-neutral.

Eric closes his eyes and listens.

_So many friends that I happen to see have been steadily falling in love_

_Oh how I wish it could happen to me and I'm asking the stars up above_

_Won't you find me a boy, just a nice looking boy_

_Who will show me the way, who will teach me to say_

_"I love you, yes I do", and who'll promise me too_

_That he'll always be true, so that I'll never be blue_

_I just wish for a gentle boy_

_Someone who's sweet and kind_

_Just a nice sentimental boy_

_That's all that I'm really longing to find_

How would it sound if Jack sang it?

The thought makes him want to cry, again, and so he buries his face in his pillow. The words are clear, but he isn't entirely sure what this means.

He can't fall into the same pattern he did all those years ago. It's nothing short of a miracle that he's got Jack back in his life. They didn't work out as a couple that first time and Eric can't make the same mistake twice. Jack is his friend again. It's better than nothing. He completes their small circle of friends, of Elli's aunts and uncles. Eric must be content with that — he can't risk all of this a second time by starting to feel again for Jack.

No. He has to do something.

He should probably start dating again.

He swallows and hides his face in the crook of his elbow. He'll have to think it through in the morning.

He listens to the song, again, and again, and again, and some time in the middle of that, finds sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The song Jack sings,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ty-4kYPbEX8&ab_channel=Fran%C3%A7oiseHardy-Topic) by Françoise Hardy. You can find an English translation [over here](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/tous-les-garcons-et-les-filles-all-boys-and-girls.html), but as said in this chapter, the song doesn't translate very well. I hesitated a long time between this one and something more québécois like À la claire fontaine (which is metaphorically weirdly sexual), but Hardy was pretty popular over here as well so I don't think it's far fetched Jack would know it by heart. I had a phase when I was 14-15 when I was really into this song, feeling aaall the angst and not understanding why people around me were so interested in other boys/girls/sex. The song is just a big queer mood because it's about feeling different when it comes to love, and many people in the youtube comments seem to agree. :)
> 
> I'm also linking you all to the loveliest version done [by Pomme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EyPVbGMC2Y&ab_channel=Sourdoreille), who is a queer French singer. This version was more often than not my writing soundtrack for this fic. :) 
> 
> You can listen to Find Me a Boy [over here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GC50Lh-pxb0&ab_channel=TomSmith). As said in the fic, it's not a direct translation of the original version, but it's still lovely and fits this chapter as well. :P
> 
> As always, thank you so much for your comments, and see you next Friday! <333


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're earning our E rating with this chapter! :) This is a fun one, friends. :D

Jack keeps his promise and stays around. They hang out more often than not on Jack's free nights when he doesn't have games or roadies, or some sort of event or meeting — he's doing a lot for You Can Play and the Make a Wish foundation, which, honestly, is— _aaaargh_.

Elli is always included unless he has a sleepover, and he and Jack get along like two peas in a pod.

After a few deliberations, Eric gets skates and hockey gear for Elli from Smith, a Falconer with two rapidly growing kids.

Elli is ecstatic about going to the rink to _play hockey like Kent Parson_ , and Eric can't help but feel guilty about not having found a way to buy cheap gear before. He's also worried Jack will get tired of Elli bringing up Parson, but every time he does, Jack laughs it off or tells Elli a funny anecdote about the two of them. And Elli listens politely as if he doesn't believe Jack truly knows Parson but is indulging Jack's desire to show off or something. It's like upon knowing him, Elli has forgotten all about three times Stanley Cup winner Jack Zimmermann, and maybe it's for the best. After all, Jack's most impressive skill is, without doubt, his extensive knowledge of Pokémon.

The three of them go to the rink together and Eric gets a thousand pictures of Elli all geared up and looking way too cute, drowning in layers of snow pants, coat, jersey, neck protector, mitts, and helmet.

"Is he even going to be able to move?" Jack whispers to him, as Elli walks stiffly, his hand curled around Eric's index finger.

"We'll see," he chuckles.

He's wearing his old pair of hockey skates, but it always feels different without his pads and jersey on, while Jack is also dressed in a simple coat and jeans. Maybe, when Elli will be older, they'll bring the whole gear and play games. That would be fun.

"All right, sweetheart," he tells Elli as they're arriving at the entrance to the ice, Jack behind them. "I'm going to lift you, and you're going to put your feet on the ice, one by one, okay?"

"You ain't gonna let go?"

He smiles at him. "I promise I won't." A deep breath. "Okay, let's go."

Elli's first steps on the ice are tentative — he doesn't remember much of the last time they came here, more than a year ago. Eric holds him up, nearly bent in half. He's going to feel that tomorrow.

He hears Jack getting on the ice behind him and effortlessly skates half a circle to face them both. "Whoa, you're a natural," he tells Elli, who's more walking on the blades than skating. "Great job, buddy."

Elli shrugs. "I'm not going very fast."

"Ha, you'll get there." Jack seems to notice something, and says, "Just a second."

He skates off to God knows where, and Eric transfers his hold from under Elli's arms to his hands. "You okay? Wanna try to lift a leg and push?"

Elli tries the smallest push with his left leg, his whole body wobbling back and front. He's already better on the second try but still uses the same leg to push himself forward.

"There you go," Jack says, skating by them and holding up some sort of plastic penguin, with two handles coming out of its head. "Will be easier that way."

Carefully, Elli lets go of Eric's hands and grabs the penguin.

"Lord," Eric says, "when I was a kid we didn't have fancy penguins, you just pushed a chair around."

Jack looks thoughtful for a moment as he hums. He probably can't remember needing any aid on the ice ever.

"Daddy, it's a pengweng!" Elli says, before taking off, pushing himself with the same leg over and over again.

"Awesome, sweetie." Staying a good meter behind him, Eric turns to Jack, and whispers, "You'll have noticed by now, but he loves animals. Just ask him what he wants to be when he grows up."

Jack quirks an eyebrow. "What? Like a vet?"

Eric chuckles. "Just ask him."

"Hey, Elli," Jack says, raising his voice. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"A cat!"

Jack frowns. "You mean, like a vet who takes care of cats?"

Elli glances at them over his shoulder, clear judgment in his eyes as Jack is slow to understand. Eric covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to outright laugh at them. Goodness, his boys.

"No, Msser Jack, _a cat_."

"Okay…" Jack answers, a bit dubious but there is a smile on his face. "That's cool."

He shoots a questioning look at Eric, who loses it and starts laughing. "He's four, Jack, what do you want me to say?"

Jack shrugs. "It's just that… a cat, seriously?" A pause, before he nudges Eric, gently. "I mean, dogs are better."

He snorts, but before he can reply, Elli's penguin plunges forward, taking Elli with him. Everything slows down as Eric jumps towards him, knowing too well that he's half a second late to save him from a fall — but Jack is there, catching Elli at the last second, an astonishing reflex Eric doesn't know he should credit to hockey or something else.

Jack does this ridiculous thing once he grabs Elli, and rolls on his side before springing back up on his skates, cartwheeling Elli around, who starts laughing midair as if nothing has happened at all.

"You okay, buddy?" Jack asks Elli, propping him against his hip.

"Yeah!" Elli says. "That was sw'awesome!"

Jack laughs and lets Elli back onto the ice, holding both of his hands like Eric was before. "All right, let's go get your penguin."

"Yeah!"

Eric lifts the penguin off the ice, and angles the handles towards Elli, watching as Jack makes them skate the few meters separating them. "Ooh, _that's_ fast!" Elli gasps, as Jack steers him towards the penguin.

"Here you go," Eric says, as Elli grabs the handles once more. "Now, don't put too much of your weight on the penguin, or you'll fall forward again."

Elli nods, and forgetting about it all already, takes off again, leaving Eric and Jack behind.

"Thank you for that," Eric tells him.

"Ha, no problem. He's bound to fall a few times, though."

"I know, I know." It never gets easier, seeing Elli hurt or crying, and he always has to remind himself not to be too overprotective. Elli needs to make his way in the world, and brave certain obstacles on his own, especially considering how sensitive he can be, sometimes.

Still, he valiantly skates on, falls a few times, and starts making friends with the other kids as they race each other around. There aren't a lot of people at the rink, only a few families and a group of teenagers in hockey gear, gathered around one of the unused goals.

At some point, Jack gets recognized, and spends a good fifteen minutes signing autographs and taking selfies. Elli, a bit frightened, skates back to Eric and questions him about it.

"It's because Jack's the captain of the Falconers," Eric explains. "Three Stanley Cups, remember?"

Elli had forgotten, of course — at an age when "a long time ago" means last week, it's not a surprise Elli doesn't equate hockey player Jack with the one he's got to know.

Eric spends the next few minutes entertaining Elli by doing a few ice skating moves, the easy one that can be done in hockey skates and that won't throw his back out. Elli is an appreciative public: he gasps, ohs, and laughs, and asks him to spin again, faster and faster.

He stops himself when he starts getting too dizzy and notices that he has attracted a crowd of his own. Jack has skated back to Elli and his penguin, and a few families have stopped to let their kids watch him as well.

"—good, eh?" he overhears Jack telling Elli.

"Oh yeah, my dad is the best," Elli confirms, solemn, as if he has seen it all already. "Again, again!" he pleads, when he sees Eric coming towards them.

"I won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow if I do it again," he laughs.

He's always tried to stay in good shape, which is more easily said than done with the kind of schedule he has. Even if he runs regularly, some muscles he hasn't used in a very long while have just been reawakened.

"That was impressive, Bittle," Jack comments, his tone as serious as Elli's. "You haven't lost any of it."

"Oh please," Eric says. "I'm out of practice and it shows."

Jack opens his mouth, about to say something, when one of the teenagers stops in front of them, stick in hand. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, "but we were starting a game, and we wondered if you'd like to join?"

Jack looks back at him. "What do you say?"

"That would be great, it's just that—" there's Elli to consider, he wants to say, just as Elli grabs onto his jeans.

"Daddy I'm tired now. My toes are pines."

"Your toes are pines?"

"Yeah, pine needles in my toes."

Eric chuckles. "You mean _pins_ and needles. All right, sweetheart, do you want to take a break? You could go sit on the bench and watch Daddy and Jack play a bit of hockey if you want to."

He leaves Elli on the bench with one of his newfound friends, a little girl his age, and her mother, who agrees to watch over them, and skates back to the two teams forming on one corner of the ice.

The teens split him and Jack into opposite teams, and so they start against each other in the first face-off. He wants to laugh, really, giddy at the prospect of playing against Jack after all this time, but manages to put on his best "scary" face as he leans in, stick in his hands.

"Don't go soft on me, Zimmermann," he says.

Jack doesn't even crack a smile. His face-off expression is as imposing as it was years ago, although now Eric kind of loves it. "You wish."

The chirp makes Eric smile, and he nearly misses the moment the puck hits the ice because of it. They scramble for it but Eric wins, swinging the puck back to one of his younger teammates, who anxiously passes it back to him as he skates a few meters forward. It's clear that both their teams are too distracted by Jack to mind him at all. There are only two players between him and the goals, so it shouldn't be too hard: he springs forward, the sound of skates ripping through the ice somewhere in his back as Jack chases him, probably the only one who knows Eric poses a real threat.

Jack doesn't manage to catch up (okay, he _is_ going a bit soft on him), and before Eric's opponents get the chance to come between him and the goal, he nets the puck without difficulty.

He hears a glorious, "Daddeeeeyyyyyyyy!" coming from the bench, and points the blade of his stick towards Elli, with a wink, before Jack nearly collides with him, as he breaks his sprint at the last second.

Eric shoves him away, playfully. "No checking allowed, mister, neither of us are wearing gear."

Jack shakes his head. "So, how am I supposed to get the puck away from you? You're damn fast, Bittle."

"Be creative." He lifts his chin, and skates away.

He hears an amused huff behind him as he retrieves the puck from the net and slides it towards the center of the ice. All eyes are still on him, and he can't help but be pleased with the fact that the teenagers who were gaping at Jack Zimmermann five minutes ago are now gaping at _him_. Okay, his thighs are already burning and it's not like he'll do something like that again, but it was totally worth it.

"C'mere," Jack says to his team, as they huddle around him. "Okay, we need to adjust your game if we want to—"

Eric smiles. He hasn't asked what Jack wants to do when he'll retire from the game, but he would be a great coach.

"All right, y'all," he says to his team, who gathers around him with newfound respect. "We need to define our strategy so we can work together."

"Oh my god," one of the younger boys says. "Are you in the NHL too, sir?"

He blinks. "Oh, bless you, no, I'm not. And you don't need to call me sir, lord, I'm only twenty-eight."

"How do we call you, then?"

He chuckles. "My teammates used to call me Bitty."

"All right, Bitty, cool name. I'm Brady, and this is Jonesy, Garcer, and Rusky," he adds, pointing with his stick at each of their teammates. Clearly, hockey nicknames never die.

"Sw'aw— never mind. Nice to meet y'all. Now, we have to plan our game a bit if we want to beat them."

"How do you want to do that, si— Bitty? They have Zimmermann with them."

He grins. "Good thing I played with Zimmermann, then. I know a few things about him that might help us…"

*

It takes a moment for Eric to secure Elli in his car seat, as he's half-asleep and doing his best impression of a cooked spaghetti noodle.

"Need a hand?" Jack asks, standing in front of the driver's door, just as Eric clips in the last strap.

"No, it's fine, I'm done."

He steps back from the car, and Jack takes a look at Elli. "All fingers and toes inside?" he asks and closes the door after Elli nods.

Eric throws him a smile, goes around the car and drops in the passenger seat with a grunt. He's going to feel this in the morning, and he definitely needs a shower.

"That was fun," he says, his voice low for Elli's sake. "We should do this again."

"For sure."

"I don't want to bore you, though, you play enough hockey like that to have to do it against amateurs."

"Are you asking the hockey robot if he's tired of playing _hockey_?"

Eric chuckles and throws his head back to lean it against the seat. He's not the only one in the car who would like to nap, right now. "C'mon, that joke was funny ten years ago. You're no robot, Jack Zimmermann."

"Ha, not sure everyone would agree with you."

He hums. "That's because they don't know you like I do."

Jack glances at him, expression unreadable.

"And besides, I need to even the score."

"I thought we weren't counting," Jack points out.

That's true — after that first play, they let the kids run the game. They were good for sixteen-year-olds, some of them _very_ good. By the end of the game, Jack was talking with Jonesy about college hockey teams, a clear interest in her eyes. She was not only wicked fast, but could read the game in a way that advantaged Eric's team for a while before their opponents redoubled their efforts.

"Talk for yourself." He yawns. "Hmm, I might take a nap, too."

"I'm not sleeping, Daddy," Elli says from the backseat, his voice small and exhausted. "I wanna play hockey."

"We just went to the rink, Elli."

"I mean I wanna play hockey like you and Jack and Kent Parson."

Eric blinks. "Well, now that you have skates, I'll look for classes, if you want to."

He waits for an answer, but none comes: Elli, without a care, fell asleep in the middle of their conversation.

"You can sleep if you want," Jack whispers. "I'll wake you up when we get there."

He yawns again. "I just might."

*

"Bittle. Hey, Bittle— sorry, sorry."

There's a hand on his shoulder and he'd rather like it to go away and go back to sleep, thank you very much.

"Bitty, we're here."

He groans and opens his eyes. He's not in bed, but in Jack's car, in front of his block, and it takes him a moment to remember that they were just coming back from a skate at the rink.

"Oh, right, sorry," he mumbles, unclipping his seatbelt. "Is he—" he asks, before turning towards Elli, who's still fast asleep, bunched up in his winter coat, cheeks pink from the earlier exercise.

"Yep," Jack says.

He groans again, stepping on the pavement. "Now the real workout begins," he says, with a look at his block behind him. Elli's getting heavier and heavier, and if he manages the two flights of stairs without much trouble with Elli in his arms and his bag slung across his shoulders, he's not sure his legs will hold up under him after the two hours he spent on the rink.

"Do you want me to carry him upstairs?" Jack asks.

"Would you? I feel it might become a disaster if I attempt it. What?" he says, as Jack opens the back door. "It's been a while since I skated. I'm feeling muscles I forgot were there. Watch out, he's heavier than what he looks like."

Jack chuckles, and carefully lifts a sleeping Elli in his arms and then against his shoulder. "Oof."

"Told you. Let's put that NHL training to work."

They get to the door of the building and Eric fumbles around for his keys in his bag — this thing has too many pockets — before he retrieves them and opens the door, to Jack's evident relief.

Five minutes later, Elli is in bed and mumbling something about bees and libraries. They watch him for a minute or two before they share a smile and make their way out of the room.

*

**DAVIS BELONGS WITH THE FLYERS YOU COWARDS** @jonesyplayshockey

 _You won't believe who we played with today at Howard Arena._ 😱

_[Picture attached: Jack and Eric standing center ice, with the two teams around them in silly poses.]_

_^_ **Anna B.** @annabb1995

_Oh my god you played hockey with Jack Zimmermann???_

_^_ ** _FALCS FTW_** @blueandsilver

_Holy fuck!! How is he in real life?_

_^_ ** _Reaper_** @reaper253

_Who's the other dude?_

_^_ **DAVIS BELONGS WITH THE FLYERS YOU COWARDS** @jonesyplayshockey

_@annabb1995, correction: I SCORED on Jack Zimmermann_

_@blueandsilver, he's super cool! helped me with my backhand, very nice guy :)_

_@reaper235, Zimms' friend, goes by Bitty, played college hockey, literally the sweetest_

_but will kick your ass on the ice, that's all I know_

_^_ **Mel** @bakingmitts97

_That's Eric Bittle @omgcheckplease!!!! I'm a fan of his baking vlog!!! Didn't know he still played hockey?!_

_^_ **Anna B.** @annab1995

_@jonesyplayshockey do you think they might be more than friends?_ 😱

_^_ **DAVIS BELONGS WITH THE FLYERS YOU COWARDS** @jonesyplayshockey

_@annab1995, oooh, idk! they flirting around a bit but idk if they're_

_just friends or more than that. if they're together they weren't showing it. also_

_Bitty has a kid?? not sure if he's single or anything._

_^_ ** _FALCS FTW_** @blueandsilver

_Zimmermann's rumored to be single since he came out (maybe apart brunette_

_woman in 2019?). I mean, I'm here for the hockey, but oh my god, that man_

_has three cups, he deserves some lovin'_

♥︎ _Kent Parson and 32 others have liked this tweet._

_^_ **Mel** @bakingmitts97

_Go to 3:46, Nigerian meat pie episode, Bittle is defo single. Not that I don't love his_

_overworked sassy single dad commentary, but oh my god, how cute would that be?!_

_^_ **Anna B.** @annab1995

_@bakingmitts97 too cute, too cute!! & @blueandsilver's right. Sounds like if_

_someone deserves it, it's them!_

**EVERYTHING HOCKEY** @everythinghockey

_Jack Zimmermann was spotted today fetching a sleeping toddler from the babysitter._

_Has the very private Falconers' captain been living a secret life all along to protect his_

_family? When did he become a father? Who is his partner, and this mysterious blonde_

_babysitter? The truth is exposed in our exclusive article._

_[Picture attached: a close-up of a toddler sleeping and slung over Jack Zimmermann's_

_shoulder, as he chats with "mysterious blonde babysitter" in front of a building's door.]_

222 retweets

**BUZZFEED SPORTS** @buzzfeedsports

_10 Reasons Why Jack Zimmermann Would Make The Best Dad Ever (Gifs included!)_

**Jack Zimmermann** @jackzimmermann01

_I don't have a child. The kid you see in that picture is my friend's, @omgcheckplease,_

_who is not a babysitter but an amazing baker and vlogger. Go follow him instead_

_of baiting fans with nonsense. And please refrain from taking pictures of a child without_

_permission._

*

Lardo perks up at the sight of Shitty making his way through the crowd. "Oh my god, hurry up, Shits, or I think I'll throw up."

She doesn't notice Ransom slightly shifting away from her, as Shitty drops in the booth with a grunt, dragging his bag over his lap. "Took me three fucking stores to find it."

Lardo's already going for the bag: she fiddles with the zipper for a few seconds, hands unsteady before she sighs and turns away (as much as she can, given that her belly is flush against the edge of the round table) as if profoundly hurt.

"Let me, let me—" Shitty breathes out, and retrieves the carton of peach juice from the bag.

Holster throws a look around them, picks up a discarded menu, and makes it stand in front of Lardo's empty glass, while Shitty fills it up.

"Gimme," Lardo says, taking the glass before Shitty's done pouring, and juice spills on the wooden table.

Eric gathers a few napkins and plasters them over the small puddle before he stuffs them in an empty glass.

"Aaaah," Lardo sighs, through her straw. "Fuck yeah. Thank you," she adds, kissing Shitty on the cheek.

He rolls his eyes a bit, ironically, but Eric can see that he's pleased.

"So, what did I miss?" Shitty asks. 

"Nothing much, we were debating about 2D versus 3D animation," Ransom says.

Shitty frowns. "Bro, what gives?"

"We went to see Cars 6 with Elli and we've been wondering why all animated movies are in 3D, now."

As promised, Ransom and Holster came by to take Elli to the movies in the afternoon, which let Eric get some work done on the book without too much interruption. He even got the time to finish editing his latest vlog, before they came back and left Elli with the babysitter for the night.

"They're just following the latest technological advancements in the field," Lardo says.

Holster shrugs. "Sucks, though. 2D was way better."

"It's just because you're used to it."

"Nah," Ransom chips in. "I agree, there's something unique about hand-drawn stuff."

"Sure," Eric says, "the classics are unbeatable, but Moana was such a pretty movie, just like Tangled. I'll get hell for admitting this, but even Frozen has its moments. They ain't all bad."

He's not sure he would have survived through Cars 35365476560, though.

"Oooh, Tangled," Lardo says. "The one with the hot dude, right?"

Eric quirks an eyebrow. "What, Flynn Rider? He's all right."

Ransom chokes on his drinks. "Bro, have you _seen_ that movie?"

Eric gapes at him. "And _you have_?"

"Yeah." Ransom shrugs. "Holster got us Disney+ a while ago. But seriously, bro, Flynn Rider, no?"

"I don't know,” Eric says. “Maybe, but he's still a cartoon. And he's so arrogant at the start, don’t you think?"

Ransom stares at him like he's crazy or something.

"Okay," Shitty says. "Hottest Disney dude. 3-2-1…"

"John Smith," Ransom says.

"Naveen," Holster says.

"Beast," Lardo says.

They all turn towards her. Shitty is gaping.

She shrugs. "What?"

"Okay, we'll address the _John Smith_ situation in a moment," Holster chirps, clear concern in his eyes, "but seriously, Lardo, Beast? Like, in his human form?"

Lardo laughs. "Nah, bro, Beast when he's a beast." She throws a look around. "C'mon, I can't be the only one?"

Eric groans. Hell, he's going to regret this later. "Actually…"

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster turn to gape at him.

"I mean, Beast is better than in his human form, right? You get… used to him after a while." He doesn't even know why words are coming out of his mouth right now. "Oh, come on! We're talking about _cartoons_ , here."

Shitty hums. "Nah, I get Bitty, he's used to dating scary motherfuckers, but Lards, really?"

Eric opens his mouth, about to reply, because that's not his type _at all_ —

"What's yours, Shits?" Lardo asks.

"The general from Mulan, of course." 

Lardo hums approvingly, and Ransom and Holster nod along. Mulan wasn't Eric's favorite as a child, because the villain was downright scary, but he knows what Shitty is talking about. "I mean, were shirts _optional_ in medieval China? You, Bitty?"

He groans. "Not a chance. You'll laugh."

"Come on, bro. You're the specialist here, the only one with a kid."

"That excuse won't be working anymore in three months, Shitty Knight, so watch out." He glares at him, but Shitty can't be deterred that easily. He gives in with a sigh. "Fine. If I _had_ to choose, I'd say the prince from The Little Mermaid."

From the corner of his eye, he can see Ransom elbowing Holster, while Lardo snickers. "Whose name is…"

He rolls his eyes. "Prince Eric. Oh, lord, go ahead and chirp me already, I've dug my grave." Silence falls over the table as the four of them share long glances at each other as if they're on the same joke that Eric somehow missed. "What? What's going on?"

Holster shrugs. "Nothing, bro. I get it, he's hot."

" _Thank you._ "

Shitty clears his throat. "Talking about tall, dark, and handsome men… Bruh, that Buzzfed article about Jack was a hoot."

The table dissolves in giggles, but Eric can only sigh. "Oh my god," he says, "you should have seen him when that photo came out. He was furious."

He had a good reason, too, since Eric had already told him that he wishes to keep Elli away from Internet drama. He's appeared here and there, mostly on his Instagram, but Eric doesn't want to be one of those parents who monetize off their kids. The paparazzi pictures hadn't been Jack's fault, of course, though he apologized profusely for it.

"Paps, man, that shit is disgusting," Lardo says. "I still can't believe they just assumed you were the babysitter."

Part of Jack's anger had been caused by that very fact. It's not like Eric isn't used to being overlooked, but goodness, he's no babysitter to his son.

"Asshats," Shitty agrees. "At least Jack told 'em. That tweet? Told ya. Scary motherfucker."

Holster chuckles. "Was that like, reason #8 from the Buzzfeed article? _But he's not all soft either. Jack Zimmermann would protect you and your babies with his very own life_?"

He was with Jack as they were trying to do some social media damage control, and he's not sure he's seen Jack more embarrassed than when he found out about that article.

"At least it's not another article saying I'm doing coke or something," he had mumbled at the time.

No, the article shed a positive light on Jack — if a very horny one.

"I'm fucking sorry," Shitty chips in. "I live for reason #1, _Ultimate Dad bod_. C'mon. _When you're watching TV, Zimmermann's big enough for you and that baby, baby_."

The table doubles with laughter again. Lord. That article was the most ridiculous thing Eric had ever set his eyes on, but it doesn't mean it was… inaccurate. Bless their hearts, he'll take that knowledge to the grave.

"Too bad he couldn't be here," Ransom says. "We have chirping material for _ages_."

Holster wipes at his eyes. "Just wait until he comes back. I'll print it out and ask him to sign me a copy."

"Brooo."

"He's in Edmonton, right now?"

"No," Eric says. "Montreal, actually. They're playing tonight so he's staying at his parents’, Edmonton is on Monday."

There’s a silence.

" _What_?"

"Nothing, nothing," Ransom says. "So, you and Jack, ehhh—"

Eric's eyes narrow. "Oh my lord, why do people keep implying that? We're _friends_. You know two queer guys can be friends without having to sleep together, right?"

"For sure, but two exes who're still hot for each other like a decade later?" Holster says. "That's not the same."

"I am not hot for Jack Zimmermann!" That was louder than he intended to — a few heads turn his way, and damn, that better not end up on Twitter as well. "And," he adds, lowering his voice, "Jack is definitely _not_ hot for me. Unless I'm missing a vital clue that no one's telling me about."

He glares at them as they lapse in another silence. What if… What if he _is_ missing a vital clue that they're not telling him?

He crosses his arms over his chest. "What?" he asks, his tone hard. " _What_?" he repeats, and he hates how pleading it sounds, but no one dares to look at him in the eye. "He's not. I know he's not, and even if he were, I wouldn't make that mistake again. He's my friend, and I won't lose him a second time."

"Nobody said a word about losing—"

"It's all right, bro," Ransom says, shuffling closer to Holster. "Sorry. You kinda were our Haus parents and I think we're not handling the divorce very well."

"It's been eight years. _Grow up_ ," Eric snaps.

Holster opens his mouth as if to answer him, before he turns his head away, staring at some point in the distance.

Fuck, that was rude as hell, but the guys keep being nosy. He's sick and tired of everyone saying Jack and him belong together because they _don't_. Lord, he's not making up stuff, here: they tried, and it didn't work. That's it. Tangible proof that they're not made to be together.

"Sorry. _Sorry_. But I don't wanna talk about it."

Because it hurts. It still fucking hurts to have them say they could have been something. Eric is aware of what would have been possible if he hadn't fucked up all those years ago. If he had been more patient with Jack. More mature. But it's not how things work. He can't exactly go back to Jack and admit that he's never quite got over him. Jack wouldn't want him anyway, not after all this time. It ain't that easy. It never was, and never will be.

Shitty clears his throat. "Anyway, you know who's hot for Jack? Chris fucking Chow, that is. You've read the article, right? The part where he creams his pants talking about Jack taking him on a date?"

Lardo barks out a laugh, and even Eric can't help but snort — he remembers that part of the Buzzfeed article.

Ransom takes his phone out of his pocket, and Shitty notices instantly. "Do you have it?" he asks.

"Bro, for sure." Ransom clears his throat, and when he starts reading, it's with the sauciest tone he can muster. " _Reason number seven: he'd treat you like a princess. Or a prince. Or a non-binary nobleperson. This is a bit of an extrapolation because we don't know much about Zimmermann's dating life, but to quote Shark's goalie Christopher Chow when asked in a Puck Personality video which player in the league he would be most likely to go on a date with: "Oh my god, Jack Zimmermann, for sure! I played with him in college, can you believe that? He's the best. The absolute best! A real gent, too, like he'd open the door for me and ask the waiter for a candle unless we're staying at home because he has insisted on cooking my favorite meal or— Heh. I mean. I'm married. But Jack Zimmermann? Yeah. You have to love him!'"_

By the end, Ransom is struggling to read through his wheezing, but it's not like they're listening anymore, too taken with trying to breathe through laughter.

"Goodness," Eric says, wiping at his eyes. "I love that boy."

"Jack told me," Shitty wheezes, nearly bent in half, "last time they— they played against each other— Chowder asked him if— if Jack remembered— him."

"Oh my god," Lardo snorts. "What did he say?"

" _We went— We went to college together, Chowder_. _I gave you my dibs._ "

It spurs another round of laughter, and it takes a few good seconds before Eric can calm down. When he does, he feels utterly tired and leans his head against Lardo's shoulder, who hums around her straw.

His eyes set on the table, and he notices how his phone's screen has lighted up. "Speaking of the devil." He answers the call and presses his phone to his ear. "Chowder!"

Everyone cheers, swallowing Chowder's answer.

"Wait a second," Eric says, "I'm with everyone, let me put you on face call."

"Chris fucking Chow!" Shitty roars when Chowder appears on the screen. Eric positions his phone on the table against his glass, for everyone to see. "How's Farmer? How are the girls? How's Cali?"

Chowder grins at them. "Hey, Shitty! Aaah, it's fine. Very, very hot right now, though. The girls are doing great, thank you!"

"Congrats on yesterday's win!" Holster says, leaning in to see the screen.

"Thanks, Holster! The Kings are on fire this season, I swear."

"Not as much as you, bro, these were some mad saves you made."

"By the way," Shitty says, "we were just talking about you."

Chowder shakes his head. "Oh, no. That Buzzfeed article?"

" _Brooooooo_."

"Or what's known around here as _Cait's favorite Puck Personality interview_."

There's laughter coming from Chowder's side, and Farmer appears in the frame, to general excitement.

"Oooh, are we talking about my favorite interview?" she says before she kisses Chowder on the cheek. "Don't worry, babe, I'll put a candle on the dinner table tonight, just for you."

No camera angle could ever hide Chowder's furious blushing, although he's trying to steer it away from his face. "I can't believe I said that. I swear I wasn't high, I just phased out or something…"

"Yeah," Lardo chirps, "that's called an orgasm."

Holster and Lardo high-five over the table.

"Aw." Eric bats a hand at her. "Don't worry, Chowder, I thought it was sweet."

"It's crazy that the NHL even asked that question," Ransom points out.

Shitty shrugs. "Progress, bruh. They're trying since their players started coming out. They're doing it to keep a good face, but still."

They lapse into momentary silence, and Eric watches as Chowder shifts the angle of his phone, to fully include Farmer in the shot.

"Anyway," Chowder says, "uh, I'm glad you're all here because it'll be easier this way. I was calling because we have some news to share."

"Shoot!"

Chowder gazes at Farmer, a look so sweet it makes Eric's heart sigh a bit. She nods, and when he turns back towards the camera, says, "Cait's pregnant."

"Shut your mouth!"

"Chris motherfucking Chowder!"

"A third one, really? You're fucking strong," Lardo tells Farmer. "I don't think I'll be able to do this a second time," she adds, with a wave of her hand in the direction of her round belly.

Farmer laughs. "I always wanted a big family, though it's easier said than done. To be honest, we didn't really plan this one, at least not this early, but you know…"

She shrugs, and Holster leans in, grinning. "You know how babies happen, right, Chowder? There are ways to prevent these."

"Shut up, Holster," Chowder says, flushing again. "We're happy. Really, really happy."

They chat for a few minutes until the pub becomes too loud to understand anything Chowder and Farmer say. They do promise to come to visit everyone in Providence this summer — it's been a while since Eric's seen the whole family, more so than Chowder, who usually stops by when he plays against the Falcs or the Bruins.

When Chowder hands up, Ransom stands to go to the bathroom and tugs Holster along. Eric's not sure why they need to go together, but he has stopped questioning them a long time ago.

"Will we ever learn what is going on between these two?" he asks, eyes on their backs.

"I dunno, bruh," Shitty says. "But that queerplatonic thing they've got going on seems to be working for them. Or it's something else and they don't want to say. Whenever I try to ask, they fucking bolt, man."

Lardo groans. "It's because it's none of your damn business. Stop being so nosy."

Shitty's always been about respecting people and their identities, but it's clear he feels Holster and Ransom's hesitation to share as a personal offense, as if they're not convinced he would fully understand and accept them.

"It stopped being _nosy_ a while ago. It's been ten years."

Lardo's about to replicate when Shitty's phone rings. He excuses himself as he stands up, answering the call, and leaves her and Eric alone.

"He's working a lot," Eric points out.

"He is. You know him, he wants everything to be in order for when the baby's here." She glances at him. "You're working a lot, too."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Shows that much?"

"Bro, you nearly bit Holster's head off, there."

He buries his face in his hands, groaning. "That was rude as hell, I know. I should apologize again."

"Nah, he gets it. We're just trying to watch out for you, you know that, right?"

He smiles at her. "I'm a grown adult, Lards, I don't need minders."

"Bits, if you didn't want us to care, you should have chosen another group of friends. And you say that like you haven't cared so much for all of us in the first place. You can't shake us off that easily."

He chuckles, and drops his head to her shoulder, closing his eyes for a second.

"When was the last time you got laid?" she asks, with the sound of a straw being plopped back into a drink.

He huffs. "Goodness. Too fucking long ago."

Something like last summer, when his mama came to Providence to take care of Elli for a week. He had gone clubbing for the first time in ages, and it ended with quick blowjobs at the other guy's place, Eric hurrying back home in the middle of the night. Two days later, he went on a date with another man, which didn't lead to anything but them getting handsy in the car — the guy didn't call him back, which hadn't been surprising. Even the sex hadn't been that good.

It's like he's stuck in a vicious circle of sorts: when he finally meets someone, it's just for a quick one-off that doesn't leave him wanting more. And it's not like he can meet _the one_ when he doesn't even have time for one night stands. He always imagined that at this point in his late twenties, he would have a steady, loving relationship with satisfying sex, but… Yeah, life had other plans.

Lardo laughs and shakes him off her shoulder. "Explains why you're tense as fuck, bro."

Holster slides back into the booth, followed by Ransom. "What are you laughing about?"

"Just telling Bitty he should get laid."

"Oh, yeah, Bits. Ten o'clock."

Eric throws a look in that direction, and can't help but frown at the young man sitting with a few friends. He'd been looking at Eric, and their gazes barely met before the guy turned back to his friends. He looks a bit younger than him, or maybe it's because of the way he's dressed: tank top and a backward snapback as if it's not March outside. He has the looks of an LAX bro, which is concerning because Holster would never steer him in that direction unless the situation was dire. Is it? Maybe it is. It's a bit juvenile for Eric, but lord, it's not like he's in a position to be picky.

"I'm not sure—" he starts, only to be cut off by Lardo: "Oh my god, just get your ass off this seat and go talk to him, or I'll kick you all the way to that bar myself."

"We're ready for refills anyway," Ransom says.

Eric groans but stands up, making the three of them cheer. "Okay, okay."

A few heads turn their way, and Eric can feel the moment Snapback's eyes are on him. What was it again about him getting back into the dating pool? Tonight could be a good opportunity to… dip his toes, at the very least.

He orders refills at the bar, and without surprise, Snapback makes his way towards him.

Eric drums his fingers on the bar, as Snapback asks the bartender for another round of beer for his table. A minute passes, and then another. Lord, it's not like he has all night.

Finally, Snapback clears his throat. He's blushing but looking worryingly sick at the same time. It's kinda cute. And lord, those arms. "Hey."

"Hi," Eric replies, eyebrows raised.

Snapback clears his throat again, rubbing his hand up his other arm. "Uuuh, listen, I'm not gonna pretend I wasn't staring at you for a while there."

"Ha, I get that often, my friends are loud, even for this place."

"Nah, uh," Snapback says, as he shifts from one foot to another. "It's because you're hot, man."

He laughs. "Aw, you're very forward."

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Frankly, it saves him time, if anything. Babysitters ain't free. "I'm Eric."

_Please don't say Chad, please don't say Chad—_

"Alex. Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, the exact moment the bartender leaves in front of them the drinks Eric had ordered.

He turns his head towards the booth, where Holster, Ransom, Shitty, and Lardo are looking expectantly at him, not even trying to hide it when Alex glances back as well.

"Sorry," Eric chuckles. "They've always been like that."

"Always?"

"Yeah, we went to college together. Played hockey and all."

"No way!"

"I know I don't look the part, but…"

"No, I mean, that's cool," Alex says, "I played lacrosse in college. We had a thing going on with the hockey team."

Eric can't resist throwing Holster a glare. _Seriously_? "You don't say! Was the thing, like, unambiguous rivalry?"

Alex laughs, and his smile is crooked a little. "Nah, we were bros."

"Lord, really? That wouldn't have happened at my college." Apart from the thing Whiskey had going on with Chad L.

Alex leans against the counter. "So… About that drink?"

"Oh… It's not that I don't want to, but I really have to get these back to the table," he says, pointing his chin at the drinks. It's not like he hangs out with all of his friends that often. "Listen, let me give you my number so you can text me when you're leaving, all right?"

Alex agrees, and five minutes later, Eric sits back in the booth, distributing the drinks around.

"Bro," Holster says, quirking an eyebrow. "Why are you hanging with us? You could be getting your dick sucked right now."

"No one said I can't have both. Left him my number."

"Sweet," Lardo says and shoves him in the shoulder.

*

It's two hours later, back at home and having paid Melanie for the night that Eric realizes his mistake.

"Oh, shit," he mumbles to himself, as he gets his phone out of his pocket. He stumbles around his bedroom and sits down on the bed.

 _Alex: Are we still on for tonight?_ 😜

It's past one in the morning, Elli is peacefully asleep in his room and the babysitter is long gone. Inviting Alex over is also _not_ a possibility.

_Eric: Oh my god I'm so sorry, I just got back home and I can't really leave again_

_Alex: I can pass by if you still want to_

He bites on his lower lip, before sending his answer.

 _Eric: Sorry… I have a kid and the babysitter just left. Night still young, you won't have any problem finding someone else. Have fun!_ 😉

He sets his phone to the side — he doubts Alex will answer him now, they seldom do after he mentions being a father — and heads to the bathroom. It's only when he's halfway through brushing his teeth that he hears his phone buzzing with a notification, and another, and another. He smiles: that's bound to be Jack since Eric congratulated him earlier tonight on his win against the Habs. He spits in the sink, rinses his mouth, and checks his phone when he makes it back to the bedroom.

It isn't Jack.

_Alex: Nah, I was kinda set on you, man_

_Alex: I don't wanna settle for anything less_

Eric rolls his eyes at that, but he's smiling too. Flatterer — if a bit of a cheesy one. Still, it doesn't solve their problem at all.

_Alex: I guess phone sex's off the table too_

_Alex: Yanno I really thought about getting off with you_

_Alex: too fucking damn hot_

He raises an eyebrow at that — it's the last message Alex sent him, barely a minute ago — before his phone buzzes in his hand as a picture appears on the screen.

It's a selfie, taken in the mirror of a bathroom in a house, judging by the red cups on the counter and the lack of stalls. Never mind the bathroom, it's Alex he's staring at, as he poses with one hand bunching up his tank top, revealing a set of rock-hard abs. Fuck, Eric kind of wants to lick 'em. Trace his Adonis belt, suggestively dipping under his waistband, with the tip of his tongue. The thought of it makes his cock twitch.

Jeeeeeesus. It's been a long while.

His eyes trail lower until they meet the outline of Alex's erection, visible through his jeans but half-hidden by the counter he's standing behind.

He bites on his fist before he lowers his hand to palm at his cock through his underwear. He's so hard already, lord.

His phone buzzes again.

_Alex: this okay? don't wanna creep you out man_

Eric realizes he hasn't answered in a while, so he picks up his phone, pulls his boxers down an inch, tugs his tee-shirt up, and leans down to take a picture.

He stares at it for a few seconds. Okay, so it's been a while since he lost the six-pack, but he still has a defined stomach, and his dick is leaving a wet stain against the fabric of his underwear. It's not a bad photo. It's not a bad photo at all. He never was into the dick pic thing, to begin with, at least, not with strangers, too grossed out by the enormous amount of them he gets on his Instagram, being an openly gay, somewhat known vlogger. This— well, it's not a lot more subtle, but it's considerably sexier anyway.

Without overthinking it, he sends the picture.

_Alex: duck_

_Alex: fuuuuuuuckkk* lol_

_Alex: you make a man wanna drop on his knees_

Eric chuckles — it's so over the top, but it's nice, too. He slips his hand in his boxers, gives himself two, three strokes, and tries to type back a reply with a single hand.

 _Eric: go on_ 😳😳😳

_Alex: I'd have blown you right there in that bathroom if you'd only said the word_

_Alex: fuck I want to blow you rn_

_Eric: I'd let you_

He sits up and reaches for the lube in the drawer of his nightstand. Quickly, he shoves his boxers down, and wraps a hand around his dick, and— _aah_.

_Alex: yeah? my mouth on your gorgeous dick? you can fuck my throat if you want to_

_Alex: you touching yourself?_

He chuckles at that because he's already so fucking close and it's been less than two minutes.

He's never admitted it out loud but dirty talking winds him up pretty good — the thing is he's never had a boyfriend that was really into it. And fuck, he knows that semi-anonymous sexting is as mild as shit goes, but it feels filthy nonetheless, and he kind of _needs_ that. He closes his eyes for a second, focusing on the sensations, the arousal building up low in his stomach, and when he opens them again, a picture pops up on the screen: Alex's dick, thick and wet at the tip, his long fingers wrapped around it.

He bites on his lower lip, trying to stifle a whimper. He, like, really _really_ wants it inside him. Fuck.

_Eric: yes_

_Eric: fuck me_

_Alex: yeah? get on your knees, then_

He groans, and flings himself on his knees, spreading his legs. It feels a bit shameless, alone like that in his room, but he's too far gone to care. He's too close to adding fingers — he wants to be able to type back, anyway.

_Alex: fuck the sight of you stretched around my dick_

He closes his eyes, a smile growing on his lips, as he imagines Alex's hands on his waist as he works his dick inside him, before his phone buzzes again.

_Alex: bet you sound hot when I fuck you_

_Jack: Thanks. :-) 1rst period was an adjustment with Marty on my line. Slow start but we managed to find our rhythm by the 2nd._

Eric's hand stills on his cock while he stares at Jack's message, displayed at the top of the screen. _What kind of fucking radar that boy—_ He bites down on his lip, wishing it to go away, while the bottom of his phone scrolls through Alex's new messages.

He glances at them and tries to register Alex's words, but his phone keeps buzzing. Of course, Jack would choose _this_ moment to get chatty.

_Jack: We'll see how it goes against the Bruins tomorrow._

_Jack: Hopefully we can get a point if we get them to OT._

_Oh my god_. He's kind of in the middle of something. 

_Jack: And I'm fine before you ask._

_Jack: No broken ribs, just bruised-up a bit._

Eric frowns. He hasn't seen tonight's highlights — for obvious reasons — but he didn't know Jack got hurt.

The very vivid image of a bruise blooming over Jack's ribs pops up in his mind. Arousal sparks up in the pit of his stomach, and he gasps, his hand flying over his cock again. He tries to focus back on Alex's messages, on the promise of a good, anonymous fuck, but when he closes his eyes again, it's not Alex's palms he imagines over his skin, but large, calloused hands gripping at his waist.

Just like that, Jack's body is covering his, pounding him from behind.

They've never done it — eight years ago had been about mouths and hands — so Eric can only imagine how good it would feel as Jack would fuck with the intense devotion he grants the things he loves. He would feel safe and taken care of and just enough _used_ to make it dirty and exciting.

And fuck, since it's a fantasy he's never allowed himself to have before tonight, _why not…_

"Fuck, the sight of you stretched around my dick," Jack groans in his ear.

He bursts out laughing and nearly face-plants in his pillow, catching himself at the last second. Okay, _no_.

He rolls on his back, still pumping at his cock, and replaces the words in Jack's mouth with something more believable, something like his concentrated captain face and — _oh, God_ — comes with a gasp.

Two minutes later, his face is still buried in the crook of his elbow, as he gets his breathing under control, trying not to dwell on what just happened. He would laugh at it, because… Really? _That's_ what does it for him? But then, he's promised himself long ago that Jack wouldn't be fantasy material. It hurt too much at first, and then he'd tried to forget about him. And now that they're friends again, now that he thought that all feelings other than fondness were well behind him… This happens?

He grabs his phone — Alex finished as well, seeing his messages — and goes to the bathroom to rinse himself quickly, before he sends back two quick texts.

_Eric — to Alex: that was fun, thank you_

_Eric — to Jack: you better take care of yourself, mister_ 😤

He lies back down on his bed, his mind blank. Well, not entirely blank: there's a small voice, somewhere deep in his chest, that he can safely blame on hormones, telling him it would be nice to have someone in his bed right now. Someone to curl around and fall asleep with. Someone to confide in, to talk to, about Elli, about his cookbook, about how Shitty works too much and have Ransom and Holster finally figured things out? Someone to fuss about, to talk about the last game and the next one, to kiss the bruises off his ribs.

He stares at the ceiling.

He's so, so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bitty: *interacts with a random guy*  
> 500 km away, the most primal part of Jack's brain: *Kill Bill sirens*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is lovingly dedicated to the asshole who, back in primary school, told me I was poor because I never went to Disney. :D  
> More seriously, this chapter is less about that random dude and more about my mom who singlehandedly raised two kids and took our 21 and 26 y.o. selves to Disney two years ago. <3

Eric is totally not having an existential crisis over jam when Elli pokes his head in the kitchen. It's Friday and they've been back from preschool for an hour now, and Elli has been quiet since then. He didn't mention anything wrong when Eric had asked him about his day, back on the bus. He knows he shouldn't pry and let Elli tell him about his troubles when he'll be ready, but it's also killing him a little bit.

"Daddy?" Elli asks, stepping into the kitchen.

Eric puts the (failed) pot of strawberry jam away from the stove and turns towards him. "What's going on, sweetie?"

Is this about Maya? She did agree to be Elli's girlfriend last week, after which they shut themselves in Elli's bedroom, manically giggling, giving Eric and Elisa a good preview of teenagehood.

Maybe they broke up, which would explain why Elli is looking up at him, tears in his eyes.

"Daddy, are we poor?"

Eric's throat tightens, fast. "Oh, baby, where did you get that from?"

He lowers himself on his knees, but Elli doesn't come crashing in his arms. Instead, he rubs at his eye, valiantly trying not to cry.

"It's 'cause I never went to Disney or in a hotel and Tommy at school says that means we're poor."

"Come here, sweetie," he says, with a weak smile, and this time Elli lets himself be wrapped in his arms.

Truth is, he's been afraid that Elli would come to that sort of realization for a long time, now, especially since he started preschool, mixing with kids from different backgrounds. Not that they are _poor_ poor. The vlog is doing well, and there's a surge in his book sales from time to time, but he's alone paying rent on a two-bedroom apartment and taking care of a child on top of that. It's not like they've ever been short on food or anything, but there have been times he'd been dangerously late on rent.

Does it matter in the end? He takes Elli to the park, to the zoo, to free museums, and the movies when he can, and he's been planning to buy Elli the two-wheeled bike he's been asking for a while now. Elli has friends and family — a whole gaggle of hockey fanatics who take him out whenever they can and shower him with a frankly ridiculous amount of gifts. He has sleepovers with Maya and quiet nights in with Eric, playing Legos, updating Elli's private "baking" vlog, and laughing at Eric's inability to play Pokémon. So, no, there has been no Disney, no recent trips or new skates, but it doesn't mean…

This child is loved, goddammit. This child is taken care of. Too bad if the oven is falling apart when Eric most needs it, or that he's in dire need of a new set of shirts. He knows how to make compromises. No child should grow up worrying about his parent's finances, about the food in the fridge and the roof over their heads — he's failing at the most basic task of his job.

"We're not poor, sweetheart," he says, his voice muffled against Elli's shoulder. "Of course we're not poor. Look at me," he says, backing up a bit to press his hand to the side of Elli's face, his thumb wiping the single tear rolling down that round cheek. "Look at me, baby. That's not a very nice thing for Tommy to say, and it doesn't mean he's right, okay? Even if we were poor, that wouldn't be a bad thing. That wouldn't mean anything about us or who we are and what we do." He leans in a valiant smile on his face. "And I'll tell you a secret: even if we went to Disney right now, you wouldn't like it. There are plenty of rides that you can't do unless you're a bit taller, so what's the fun in that? We'll go in a few years, and we'll do all the rides and have so much fun, you'll see."

He better start saving money right now because Elli looks up, his reddened eyes gleaming. " _All_ the rides?"

"All the rides, sweetie, I promise."

Elli sniffles. "But also I never was in a hotel."

"That's not because we're poor," Eric says, squeezing Elli's arms. "Remember last time we went to Boston to see your uncles? And at Christmas, when Moo Maw and Grandpa visited here? And you don't remember that because you were a tiny baby, but we went to see Uncle Chowder in California, once. That's not being poor, Elli, that's the exact opposite of being poor, because we have friends to stay with wherever we go."

Elli wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve. "We saw Claire in California?"

"Yes, of course, we saw her." Claire being Chowder and Farmer's oldest, born a year before Elli. "She was a tiny baby like you. And Naomi was still in your aunt's tummy, but she was there too."

"Was Aunt Farmer as big as Aunt Lardo?"

He chuckles. "Yeah, she was pretty big too. But… we're doing fine, okay? You and me? There is nothing to worry about, baby."

"Okay," Elli whispers, tears now dried out.

He'll have to give Anika a call later today and have a talk about Tommy — it's not the first time that boy has influenced Elli in less-than-positive ways.

"Are hotels fun?" Elli asks, through one last hiccup. "They look fun."

Eric stares at him for a second, before coming to a decision. "Okay, that's it," he says.

He stands up, picks Elli at the same time, and makes his way towards his bedroom.

"Daddy?"

He sets Elli on the bed, and digs for an old backpack in his closet, that he starts stuffing with whatever falls under his hand. He's not mad, just… resolute.

"Daddy?" Elli sounds slightly scared, now. "What are you doing?"

"I'm packing a bag," he says, "because we're staying at a hotel, tonight."

Elli bounces on the bed. "Really? _Really_?"

Eric grins at him. "Yes, really. Let's go make your bag, now."

Elli chooses to pack his clothes in his favorite Pikachu bag (he has a few of these, again, courtesy of his extended family), and Eric lets him bring along one teddy bear, and it's without surprise that Elli hands him Number One.

"But it's not even sleepy time yet, Daddy," Elli points out, as they're about to head out.

"I know, but that's because we're going to play a game."

"A game?"

"We're going to pretend, you and I, to be tourists. We're going to walk around like we're on a trip and it's the first time we're here. We could… go to a museum? And a restaurant? And then we'll go sleep at the hotel. Sounds good?"

"Yeah! Sw'awesome! What museum?"

"Which one would you like?" he asks, fully knowing the answer — it's going to be Natural History, today, like on most days Elli gets to choose an activity.

"Animals! Animals!" Elli chants, both of his hands in the air for Eric to pick him up, which he does.

"All right," he says and kisses Elli's cheek. "Animals it is. Let's go."

*

They spend a good two hours at the Natural History Museum, and at the adjacent Planetarium. If Elli is only mildly interested in the NASA exhibit, his excitement sky-rockets as they travel through the animal floor. They're stuffed, of course, and though Eric finds it creepy, it never seems to phase Elli.

His favorite one is the brown bear, which is huge and in a vaguely menacing way. Elli stands in front of it for a good five minutes, entranced, hugging Number One in his arms at the same time.

"Say it again!" Elli asks.

"It's _Ursus arctos_ ," Eric says, not even bothering to look up the information sign. He knows it by heart, now.

As always, it makes Elli laugh, hard. " _Rarsus actos_! _Rarsus actos_! This is your friend Number One," he says, lifting the teddy as high as it will go.

Backing up a bit, Eric pulls his phone out and catches a quick picture of Elli.

The sound of his camera goes off, and Elli turns his head, grinning. "Selfie, Daddy! Let's do a selfie!"

"Sure," he laughs. "With the bear?"

"Yeah!"

He picks Elli up again and angles the camera of his phone to see both their faces, and the bear behind them.

"Okay, give me your meanest grizzly face," he says and takes a few pictures as they bare their teeth at the camera, Elli's nose adorably crinkled.

They decide together which one is the best of the bunch and lets Elli slide back down on the floor.

"Who are we sending this one to?" Eric asks him.

"Uncle Shitty and Aunt Lardo," Elli decides, instantly. "And Uncle Holster and Uncle Ransom and Uncle Chowder."

"So, the usual suspects."

"Moo Maw and Grandpa!"

Eric laughs. "Anyone else?"

"Oooh, Jack?"

He licks his lips. "Yeah, sure, we can send it to Jack too."

While Elli is looking at some sort of African rat, Eric opens Snapchat and sends the selfie to everyone Elli listed. He writes a quick text to his parents as well, before he opens Jack's contact, and sends him two photos: the selfie, along with the picture of Elli holding out Number One in front of the bear.

Three hours later, they're checking in at the Marriott in downtown Providence. It's $150 for a single night, but seeing Elli this elated in the grand hall of the hotel makes up for the price. He's still full of energy even though they walked around after the museum, and then went to the restaurant, and had a discussion in which Elli tried to convince him of the existence of "capybaras", a giant hamster that he has apparently seen on an Attenborough documentary, but Eric's pretty sure he's confusing those with Pokémons. They took a million more selfies in the process, sending them to the same people over and over again on Elli's insistence. At some point, Shitty had sent back a quick video snap of him going, "That's un-BEAR-ably 'swawesome, my man," which made Elli laugh so hard that Eric had to replay it four times.

They get into the elevator after getting the keys to the room, and Elli audibly squeals when he sees the long corridors. "Where's our room?"

"I don't know, we have to find it. Number 815," he adds, as Elli is off running down the hallway. "Keep your eyes open!"

He doesn't know why hotel hallways are universally appealing to children, but he remembers liking them as a kid, too. Maybe it's the carpet. Or just, a really long interior alley to run around.

Elli stops in front of 804. "This room?"

"No, sweetheart."

He runs down to the next door, 806. "This room?"

"No, it's going to be on the other side of the hallway, a bit further down."

Elli shoots him a skeptical look, but switches sides as he runs with one hand trailing on the wall, and asks about each door until he arrives in front of room 815. It takes a moment for Eric to catch up, but when he does, he confirms the number on the door.

"Whoa," Elli gasps. "You were right!"

Black magic. "Told you so."

Elli beams at him. "You're so smart, Daddy."

Ha, he'll take it — it still amazes him how much Elli admires him as if he's the strongest, cleverest, bravest person on Earth. It's how kids are with their parents, of course, and it's only a matter of time before Elli understands that his father is far from perfect. Lord, he has still so much to see. Every single small discovery makes Elli's world bigger and brighter, and that amount of joy at witnessing the world reminds Eric of its beauty as well. He's always been cheerful, and positive, and optimistic — it's a part of him, something he shares with Elli as well — but lately, it has more felt like an act than anything else. With Elli, it's like he can see the world for the first time all over again, and he wouldn't trade that for the world, however exhausted he might be.

He takes the key card out of his pocket and hands it to Elli. "Wanna open the door for us? Just press the card right here," he says, as he taps on the black plastic under the door's handle.

Elli extends his hand to press the card against the plastic, and the second Eric pushes the door open, Elli squeezes himself inside.

"It's sooo big!"

It's actually a pretty normal-looking hotel room, but both the room and the bathroom are bigger than what they have at home.

"Daddy, look! They forgot their candy!" Elli says, pointing at the two mints the cleaning staff left on the pillows.

"That's for us, Elli."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

Elli's eyes widen. "Really _really_?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, sweetheart."

Elli squeals, and jumps on the bed (not before tugging his shoes off his feet), retrieving the mints. "For you," he says, as he hands him one.

"Aw, thank you." He takes the mint and goes to place their bags on the big drawer under the TV. "So, bath, then movie?"

The hotel has Disney+, and hopefully, Elli's choice will land on something else than Frozen, this time.

"Okay," Elli says. "I'm gonna explore."

After Eric starts the bath, he follows Elli around the room, who marvels at everything, from the door eye to the mini-fridge stuck under a drawer.

"Daddy, it's full of candy too! Is that for us?"

Ugh. Overpriced hotel snacks. "No, that's for the cleaning staff. They work so hard all day cleaning the rooms, and the hotel keeps these fridges full for them to snack during the day."

"Oh, okay."

He gets Elli in the bath and nearly takes one himself in the process since that boy keeps splashing around. Afterwards, he rolls Elli in one of those big fluffy bathroom gowns and he looks so cute that Eric _has_ to take another picture. He adds a quick caption on top of it, _10/10 for tourist aesthetic at the Marriott_ , and sends it to the same bunch of people. Okay, they might have gone a bit overboard with the pictures, but it's a special occasion.

Elli is rolling around on the bed with Number One when Lardo replies with a heart-eye emoji, and his phone vibrates in his hand a second time, this time with a message from Jack. It's the first time he's answered today, but it's not surprising, considering he's had practice and meetings all day.

_Jack: You two at a hotel? Everything all right?_

_Bitty: We're fine! A kid at preschool, bless him, told Elli that not going on trips means we're poor. Which is inaccurate and rude as hell._

_Jack: Shit, really?_

_Bitty: Kids can be cruel, lord. It's not like we've never traveled, but Elli was too young to remember. And I don't really have the time right now, working on the book and everything, so we're playing tourists today. Visiting Providence!_

He bites on his lower lip as he sends the message. Put like that, it sounds cheap. Maybe he should have planned a bit and gone on a trip over the weekend. Do something more elaborate than this.

His worries evaporate as soon as Jack answers him.

_Jack: Sounds fun. :-) And it's a great idea. I've been living here for ten years and I haven't had the time to go to a museum yet, so._

Eric chuckles. Again, this is not surprising, but come on Jack, in _ten years_?

 _Bitty:_ 😱😱😱

_Bitty: We NEED to get you to a history museum ASAP, mister._

_Jack: Maybe I'll just come along on the next tourist day. :-)_

_Bitty: I'll take you up on that!_

_Bitty: All right, ttyl, we're having movie night. Hotel has Disney+ so you can guess what we're watching._ 🙄😩😆

_Jack: Ha, good luck._

Eric smiles at his phone before he puts it away. "Are you sure you don't want to watch something else?" he asks Elli, fully knowing the answer he'll get.

"No. Frozen is the best."

Beaten, he chooses Frozen on the streaming app, and turns his brain off as the first scene, which he knows by heart, rolls on the screen.

They're a good forty-five minutes into the movie when there's a knock on the hotel's door.

"Who's that?"

"Uh, no idea." He frowns. "Maybe it's the cleaning staff."

He gets off the bed, followed by Elli. "I wanna look in the eye!"

Eric chuckles. "Okay. Let's see."

He lifts Elli high enough for him to look through the door eye, and it takes him a second before he says, "There's a bear, Daddy."

What? Is that code for something? Sometimes those kids invent the silliest stuff. "I doubt there's a bear on the other side of the door. Unless it knows how to knock."

"I'm telling you it's a bear! A big, big bear!"

Eric shakes his head, lets Elli down, and opens the door.

It takes him a moment, because sitting in front of said door, is a four feet-tall teddy bear holding a basket.

"I told ya!"

"All right, it's a bear," Eric agrees. It doesn't explain why it's there.

"For us? Like the candy on the pillows!"

He looks left and right, down the hallway, but there's no one to be seen. "I'm not sure, sweetheart."

He glances down again, and takes a closer look at the basket: for the first time, he notices a white envelope on top, addressed to MR ELLIOT BITTLE, in a handwriting he instantly recognizes.

 _Oh, you silly, silly, lovely man_.

"Look at that, Elli," he says, picking up the envelope. "There's your name on it."

"For _me_?"

The last time he saw Elli with such huge eyes, there was a new Attenborough documentary on Netflix.

"Looks like it. Let's bring it inside."

He takes the basket and somehow manages to drag the giant bear inside. The moment he closes the door, Elli jumps on the bear, turns on himself, and encircles his tiny body with the two arms of the teddy.

"So soft," he whispers, settling in.

Eric sits down on the floor as well and opens the envelope to find a postcard with a picture of Providence on it, and two sheets of printer paper, neatly folded.

He starts with the postcard and stares at the handwriting for a moment, not even registering the words before Elli wakes him up from his stupor. "What's it sayin'?"

He clears his throat. " _Dear Mr Elliot Bittle_ ," he reads.

"Thass me!"

"That's you, sweetheart. _Dear Mr Elliot Bittle, It has been brought to my attention that you are visiting Providence tonight. I am very happy to know that a fine young man like you has chosen our city as a trip destination. As a thank you, we send you this complimentary basket and a bigger gift to remember us by (I was told you like bears very much). I hope you enjoy your time in Providence, and we would be delighted should you visit us again — attached to this card are two tickets to a local event that would greatly benefit from your attendance. Thank you for choosing our city,_ signed _, Mayor of Providence_."

Elli stays silent after that, while Eric, shaking his head, unfolds the two tickets to see what exactly they're about.

He stares at the paper for a moment, and only lifts his head when Elli prompts him, "Daddy?"

Jack shouldn't have. He really shouldn't have, because this is too much, after the teddy and the jersey and the bigger teddy and _oh my god_. But this is one particular gift he can't say no to, at least for Elli's sake. "It's two tickets for a hockey game next weekend, sweetheart. It's the Falconers against the Aces."

Elli looks up, eyes shining in disbelief. "Kent Parson?"

"Looks like it!"

"Kent Parson!" Elli squeals, as he stands up before he falls back on his bum like he has no idea what to do with his body. "Daddy!"

He grins. "I know, I know."

Elli stands up again and wraps his arms around Eric's middle, who hugs back, not before ruffling Elli's hair.

"Kent Parson, Kent Parson!" Elli repeats, his voice muffled against Eric's shirt.

Elli might not be able to say anything else before the game, like a broken record.

"I know," he says and kisses the top of Elli's head.

Elli's excitement drops suddenly, as he twists his fingers with his other hand. "Do you think… Do you think they know we lied?"

His eyes are imploring, and Eric tries to stifle a laugh. Instead, he kisses Elli's head again and wraps him in his arms. That boy will never, ever get in trouble.

"I think they know we're playing a game, sweetie. Being a mayor sounds pretty boring so maybe they wanted to play along."

"Sure?"

"Of course." He doesn't want to dwell on it, so he adds, "Let's see what this basket's all about."

Because Jack can't stop at a giant teddy bear and two tickets to one of the busiest hockey games of the season, of course.

In the basket, he finds a bottle of champagne ( _goodness, Jack_ ), another one that's sparkling juice, for Elli, along with all sorts of candy and a coloring book featuring The Aristocats.

Elli is overjoyed to learn that there's a Disney movie about cats, and so they watch that instead, Frozen long forgotten. Another thing Eric will have to thank Jack for, lord.

Elli loves the movie, from the very first song where the narrator sings a couple of verses in French, prompting him to ask what language that is.

"That's French!"

"Why?" Elli asks.

"Because the movie is set in Paris, which is in France. They speak French over there."

"Like Jack? When he sang the song?"

"Well, there are different types of French, but yes, like Jack."

Elli then learns that Eric was in fact in Paris for a while, which encourages him to ask another set of questions — mostly revolving around the cats Eric "met" there, and Eric launches into detailed descriptions of the block's black cat, that his boss used to feed sardines.

It's pretty late once the movie ends, and Elli crashes quickly from the sugar rush. Once he's asleep, Eric rolls out of bed, phone in hand. He's only had two glasses of champagne, but that always goes to his head too fast.

Leaning against the window, mellow and content, he stares at the screen of his phone, displaying his latest texting conversation with Jack.

Slowly, he types out a message.

_Bitty: goodness Jack_

_Bitty: or should I say, "Mayor of Providence"?_

He snorts at himself and sits down in the armchair, propping his feet up against the window's frame.

_Jack: Mayor of Providence?_

Reaaally, Jack?

_Bitty: don't play dumb, mister, I know what you did_

_Jack: Did you have a nice evening?_

_Bitty: of course we did but lord, that's a lot of gifts Jack_

_Jack: Gifts? What gifts?_

_Bitty:_ 🙄🙄🙄

 _Bitty: uuuugh I'm too tired and drunk to have this conversation rn_ 😩

_Bitty: which is like totally your fault btw_

_Jack: Go to sleep, Bittle :-)_

_Bitty: fine_

He's about to stand up when the phone buzzes again.

_Jack: Will I see you at the game?_

_Bitty: so you know something about that, uh???_

_Jack: Fine, you got me_

_Bitty: thank you_

_Bitty: like, srsly, thank you, but it's a bit lot?_

It takes a moment for Jack to answer, and Eric, giggling against the back of his hand, wonders if he's Googling what "srsly" means. That boy will be the death of him.

_Jack: Sorry. I wanted tonight to be good for both of you._

_Bitty: don't you dare apologize_

_Bitty: you made his night_

_Bitty: and mine_

The ellipsis appears in the corner of his screen, but it takes a minute or two before a message appears.

_Jack: I'll slow down. But all our friends have been around since he was born… I need to catch up. Four years' worth of birthdays and all._

Slightly dizzy, Eric closes his eyes — which doesn't, in fact, help with the dizziness at all. Jack, somehow, feels a responsibility towards Elli, even if he has known him for less than three months. And put like that, Eric can't quite refuse his gift-giving tendencies, since Jack clearly feels he's buying back all those missed times. It's the way he shows love to the people he cares about, and Eric is thankful for it, it's just that it seems sometimes that Jack's anxiety gets in the way of him realizing his presence in Eric and Elli's life is the biggest gift of them all. It's enough. He doesn't have to compensate with increasingly ambitious gifts, because there isn't anything to compensate for. _He's enough_.

It's a conversation for another time, though, one Eric wants to have face-to-face. For now, he types in a quick message.

_Bitty: okay_

_Jack: Okay?_

_Bitty: yeah okay_

_Bitty: next time we're kidnapping you for tourist day, though, no choice_

_Jack: Ha, okay_

_Bitty: and of course we'll be at the game, how could we ever miss the Aces and HRH Kent Parson_ 🙄

_Bitty: uuugh save me_

_Jack: Well, I'll be there too, if it's any consolation :-)_

_Bitty: looking forward to that_

_Bitty: not looking forward to climbing on the bus with a ten thousand foot tall teddy bear though_

_Jack: Need a lift?_

_Bitty: might take you up on that_

_Jack: Text me when you're ready to leave_

_Bitty: all right it's gonna be hellish tomorrow so good night_ 😙

_Jack: Good night, Bittle_

*

"Kent Parson, Daddy, Kent Parson!" Elli points at the player who just jumped on the ice, wearing number 90. "Keeeeent Paaaarsoooooon."

Eric turns his head from watching… no one in particular from the Falconer's team, doing their warmups. "Oh yeah, I see him!"

"He's fast like a blue ant on fire!" Elli says, and Eric has no clue what that's supposed to mean.

Instead, he hums and places his chin on top of Elli's head, and laughs as Elli tries to squirm away, a small hand batting at his jaw.

" _Daddy_."

They're early again because it's easier to enter the arena before the rest of the crowd arrives, but also because it allows them to get closer to the ice during the warmups since their seats are a bit higher up (no checking scares this time, thank you very much). Elli, in a sea of Falconer's blue, is wearing a full Aces black jersey with Parson's name on it. Bless him, it's not every day you get to meet your idol.

They shuffle around at some point, letting a father with two young kids help them in front of the glass. Eric smiles at him, and the man smiles back, and ugh— it reminds him of the dad he saw at the bakery this week. He had been bouncing the cutest baby girl in existence on his knee while sipping at his coffee, animatedly talking nonsense to each other and giggling together. Eric always knew he wanted kids, but he remembers too well the first time he found a dad to be hot — it was much earlier in his life than he thought it would be. Lord, what even is his life?

He'd stared at Hot Dad, and then he'd stared some more when Hot Dad was joined by Hot Partner, taking Baby Girl in his arms and kissing her round cheeks, as if Eric hadn't been tortured enough. It was so sweet it kept a smile on his face the whole day, as he daydreamed about what his life could be if he were to find _the one_ — a smile another man (single, this time) noticed and inquired about. And that's how he ended up with a certain Marco's number in his phone. Eric _is_ supposed to be dating people, after all, and Marco doesn't seem half-bad, with his neat suit and charming smile.

Elli bounces on his lap and reminds Eric of the world around them. Jack skates by, at some point, and Elli shouts at him a "Happy Halloween!" prompting Jack to throw Eric a quizzical look, considering it's March. Eric shrugs — he's not sure where Elli gets his ideas, sometimes.

Elli watches Parson, just as Eric follows Jack through his warm-up routine, which he recognizes from their Samwell days, with only a few changes since. A few seconds later, he skates towards the middle of the rink, until his shoulder brushes with Parson's. Right, they’re friends, now, as Jack mentioned earlier. They exchange a few words, and when Parson looks up, it's directly at Eric and Elli. After a moment, he nods and skates off towards the bench.

That seems to be the end of that, and his attention is drowned to Mashkov's loud laughter, as he chirps a Falc rookie who just lost an edge. One would think that, instead of Jack, Parson would stick around Mashkov — nothing seems to indicate that the two of them are dating, but then, they’re technically at work.

"Daddy, look!" Elli squeals, and— Parson is skating towards them.

Which, well, doesn't mean anything, except that Parson stops in front of them, sharpie in hand, and pokes the glass just in front of Elli, who's squirming so much Eric has trouble to contain him.

"Nice jersey, buddy!" Parson says to Elli, shouting over the music and the noise of the crowd around them.

Parson picks up a puck with his stick, throws it, and catches it in one hand (lord, that man will never change, will he?), before he puts it against the glass and signs it in a quick motion.

He pokes the glass again, looking at Elli. "Ready?"

Elli nods vigorously, and Parson throws the puck up and over the glass, for Eric to catch. He hands it to Elli, who inspects it for a second, dumbstruck.

"Elliot," Eric whispers in his ear, and that seems to wake him up from his stupor.

"Thank you, Mr Parson!" Elli shouts back.

He leans towards Parson, and when he puts his tiny hand on the glass, Parson places his — huge, in comparison — gloved-hand against Elli's. Okay, Eric has to admit, this is very cute.

Parson's eyes set on Eric for a second, and Eric manages to mouth a quick, "Thank you," before Parson winks at him, and skates off.

The next minutes are filled with Elli's wonder at the puck, tracing Parson's signature with his small finger when he isn't looking at the man himself warming up on the ice.

Eric decides it's enough emotions for one night, as they get back to their seats a bit higher up, but of course, it doesn't play out that way: once the game starts, it's clear that both teams are angling for a win, and by the end of the second period, a fight starts as an Ace forward rams into the Falcs' goalie, players piling up over each other.

Elli is impressed, more by the noise of the hectic crowd than the fighting itself.

"I don't like that," he says burrowing himself in Eric's shoulder until Eric tells him the fight is done and he can look again.

He's glad it's not Jack's line that's on the ice: he's nothing like an enforcer, of course, but he's been in a few brawls nonetheless. Eric would rather not have to explain to his son that in some cases, fights are allowed, or even cheered upon and that it's something Jack participates in. That will be a discussion for another day when Elli is a bit older.

Unfortunately, the game keeps growing more and more brutal, and Elli watches, eyes wide open, hugging the puck against his chest. They finally get to OT 3-3, which Eric isn't very happy about (it's getting late and even more intense on the ice), but he tries his best to entertain Elli and not dramatize too much the situation unfolding in front of their eyes.

Just like last time, it happens in half-a-second. The crowd's eyes are on Parson, as he's getting dangerously close to the Falcs goals. Two of the Falcs players are on him. Parson looks over to make a pass and Ivanov locks eyes with him for a second. A second too much, because he doesn't see Jack coming, and accidentally hip-checks him so hard that it sends Jack flying, doing half of a cartwheel before hitting the glass, hard, and then the ice.

The crowd gasps in a single sound.

Eric's mind is strangely blank before he remembers Elli on his knees. "He's okay, sweetie, look, he's about to stand up."

It's true: Jack is slow to recover but rolls on his knees, and the crowd lets out the breath it was holding. The moment he props himself on one knee, Eric can see there's something wrong: one of his arms does something funny as if it's not responding to the rest of his body, like a marionette with a broken thread. Just as quickly as the check happened, Jack rolls back down on his back and doesn't move.

 _Oh my god_.

"Daddy!" Elli cries out, throwing his arms around Eric's name, and for a moment, Eric is at loss for words.

It sends the crowd in a fury because the play hasn't stopped, and it takes the benched players to drum their sticks against the boards for the ref to blow his whistle.

The effect is immediate: Marty is the first to skate up to Jack, grabs hold of Ivanov's jersey, and slams him into the glass. It's a mess of players going one after the other around Jack's limp body, and Eric wants to jump over the glass to pull him out of harm's way, to do something, _anything_ —

In a daze, he barely registers what is happening outside of Elli clenching the front of his shirt, the only thing that keeps him from panicking. There are shouts; low, powerful _hey, HEY!_ coming from Mashkov, who is shielding Jack's head away from the worst. Parson's hands are on Ivanov, pulling him away, just as Gbeho, who jumped from the bench, is trying to control Marty, the refs in the middle of it.

The fight ceases as quickly as it has started, and the medics run over to Jack.

It feels like the crowd is collectively holding its breath as they transfer him on the stretcher, and it's only when the medic leans down to say something to Jack that Eric notices the barest movement in his body as he tries to move his hand, and nods back to the medic. Half-a-second later, the crowd lets out a sigh of relief.

"It's okay," Eric tells Elli and tries to sound convincing as a thunder of claps follows Jack out of the rink. "I saw him move, he's okay. He'll probably have a nasty bump on his head."

"Really _really_?" Elli sniffles against him.

"Yeah, I tell you, baby, he was talking back to that man."

It's about that moment that Elli breaks down into sobs, just as the ref starts the play again. They're getting a few looks from the people sitting around them. _Come on, seriously_?

"You wanna go home, sweetheart?" he asks, a thumb going over Elli's forehead, pushing the hair away. "We don't have to stay if you don't want to."

Frankly, he would rather leave himself, but he's not sure if it's better to encourage Elli to stay in order to downplay what just happened, or fully assume it. He doesn't want Elli to be scared of hockey, but… hockey _can_ be scary. And he's purposefully _not_ thinking about Jack, right now.

Elli nods through dramatic hiccups, so Eric lifts him in his arms and carries him up the stairs to the arena's exit.

He calls a taxi — he'd rather not have to wait for the bus tonight — and spends the wait trying to reassure Elli about what just happened.

"It's like when you fell on your butt when we went skating. It's just that sometimes, when you fall and your head touches the ice, you can get dizzy and you have to go see a doctor. Jack's at the doctor now, and they're taking care of him."

If only it were that simple. _Only_ a head bump. _No_. He can't let that thought get the better of him.

Through tears, Elli smiles again. "Say it again, Daddy."

"What?" It takes him a moment to understand what Elli is talking about. "Butt?"

"Yeah!"

"Butt!"

"Buuuuuutt." 

"Butt, butt, butt, butt, butt!"

They laugh until tears prickle at Eric's eyes.

Elli looks down at his puck. "Will 'e get candy if he's good at the doctor?"

Eric chuckles. "You can ask him yourself next time we see him."

"Is he gonna be sick for a long time? Eddie from school fell down a tree and then he got a robot arm for two months and then they took off the robot arm and his real arm was okay again."

He probably means one of those plastic casts that let the skin breathe through.

"I don't know, baby. I'm sure he'll be fine."

It's anyone's guess at this point, and he hates not knowing. Jack's brain could be bleeding right now, his skull could be fractured, his shoulder ripped in half, and he still wouldn't know. He's just a friend, he doesn't have the privilege of knowing, not right now, anyway, not to be the first contact on the list. Instead, he has to wait and pretend that everything is perfectly fine, to resign himself to the idea that he isn't that person, that he will never get to be that person.

"Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"Jack will be okay if he has a robot arm. Robot arms are cool."

Eric smiles. "They are, sweetheart, they are."

*

They're halfway home when he gets the call from Lardo: Shitty is Jack's emergency contact, but he's in California for the trial, and Lardo has a gallery event downtown. Nothing she couldn't cancel should the need arise, but Eric is grateful for the excuse that will allow him to check on Jack as soon as possible.

Elli under Melanie's care, who accepted a last-minute babysitting call, Eric makes his way to the RIH and finds Jack's room.

The door is closed, voices quietly speaking on the other side. It's most likely that they haven't finished patching Jack up, his injuries too severe to treat back at the arena. Eric's not so much worried about the arm than he is about the head. Lord knows what a concussion can do to someone's brain, especially if it isn't that _certain someone_ 's first head injury. The pain had been something, Eric remembers, along with the dizzy spells and nausea, and his injury was minor compared to what just happened.

"Well, you're not Shitty."

Eric's head flies up: Kent Parson is standing in front of him, snapback thrown over his wet hair, the corner of his Aces tee-shirt stuck in his jeans as if he dressed in a hurry. Ugh. That boy and his entrances.

He crosses his arms over his chest and only manages to say, "Parson," because anything else he wants to say right now wouldn't exactly be as polite.

"Eric, right?" Parson asks.

A nurse is coming through with some IV bags, so he steps closer to lean his back against the wall.

Eric's eyebrows fly up. "You remember my _name_?"

Bless his heart, it's been nine years. Is Parson that obsessed with Jack's friends?

"Nah, but Zimms won't shut up about you." Eric frowns. Really? "Cute kid, by the way," Parson adds.

Oh, right. He should at least be a little bit thankful. "Ah, yes, about that, thank you."

"You've been waiting a long time?" Parson nods towards the closed door.

"A few minutes, yes. I have no clue how much longer this might take."

A part of him wants Parson to use his celebrity card to get news on Jack's condition, but Parson, with another goal in mind, takes his phone out and composes a number.

It rings twice, and then: "Hey babe," Parson says. "You with Boski?"

Eric closes his eyes for a second. He's forgotten that Jack wasn't the only one injured in that game. Without two of their most prolific forwards and their goalie, the Falcs aren't set up for the best of playoffs. He can already imagine Jack's disappointment.

"Yeah, no, they're not letting us in the room yet."

And then, of all things, Parson switches to _Russian_. He speaks quickly, in a hushed tone that Eric would qualify as gentle, except that it's _Kent Parson_ he's talking about.

He hears his name thrown in a few times and tries not to glare too much. Thankfully, the door opens a few seconds later, and a nurse lets them come through.

"Goodness, Jack!"

He crosses the room in three strides, and wraps Jack in a gentle hug, careful not to disturb his arm, resting in a sling against his chest.

"Bittle," Jack lets out against his hair, wrapping his good arm around Eric.

Jack sighs, a tiny thing of a sigh, as he lets his body melt against Eric's for a second. Or two.

"You scared us, mister," Eric says, as he steps away from Jack's embrace.

"Shit. Is Elli okay?"

"He is, don't worry about him. Are _you_ , though?"

Now that he's up close, he can see that Jack's gaze looks haggard as if he can't focus on the things he's seeing.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jack says, in the most unconvincing tone. "I won't—" He looks away, blinks a few times. "I won't make it in time for the playoffs." He lifts his bandaged arm a few centimeters, a resigned look on his face.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

"Don't mind me interrupting," Parson says, clearing his throat as he steps forward, "this is like, cute as shit, but the guys are kind of waiting on an answer."

Jack sighs again, and this time, Eric doesn't even bother to hide his glare at Parson.

"It's dislocation and a labral tear," Jack says.

Parson grimaces. "Shit. Do you need surgery?"

_Surgery?_

"No. Not this time around. It's a good month of rehab and physio, though."

"What about your head?" Eric asks.

Jack hesitates for a moment. "It's not that bad."

" _Jack._ "

"Just a small concussion. I'll be fine in a few days."

 _Small_ isn't the word the doctor uses when she comes back in the room to recap Jack's diagnosis before sending him home. _Mild concussion, my ass_. As if Eric is blind to the way Jack's jaw clenches when he thinks he's not looking.

"You know the drill," the doctor says, dotting a few last things on her pad. "No screens for at least forty-eight hours, and you'll need someone to check in on you every four hours tonight. I take it that Mr…" She checks her chart. "…Knight knows how it goes."

"Ah," Jack says, rubbing his good hand on the back of his neck. "Uh, yes, he does."

Parson clears his throat, just as Eric frowns at Jack.

"Very well," the doctor says, with a smile. "You're cleared."

Jack nods and thanks her, and stares at the floor for the minute it takes her to leave the room as if he'd like to disappear through it.

"So," Parson starts, eyes narrowed. "Where are you staying tonight?"

Jack sighs. As if they would have let him go away with this! "Could you ask Tater if I can take his guest room?"

"Sorry, bro, Boski's got dibs first. Alexei's with him."

Jack opens his mouth, about to say something, but Eric beats him to it. "You could stay with us if you want."

"Ah, uh, thanks. I don't want to impose, though, you've got enough on your plate like that. I'll just ask Smithy or Gbesy."

Eric crosses his arms over his chest, because _seriously?_ Jack's trying to be polite, but it comes off as dismissive. Eric's not invalid either, he can watch out after his kid and be there for his friends, too. That boy, sometimes.

"It wouldn't be an imposition, Jack," he points out.

"Unlike staying with anyone on the team," Parson says. "They're about to leave for a roadie, I don't think they'll be delighted at watching over your sorry ass all night."

Eric gapes at him, but Jack laughs it off. "Ha, thanks Parse. I'll call Lucky, then."

"Lucky? The one who can't walk without crutches? You sure this is a good idea?"

"I'll be his legs and he'll be my arm," Jack says, with a feeble smile.

"Can't wait to see that," Parson sneers. "Is he supposed to sit on your shoulders so you can both go around the kitchen? I bet Anne-Marie will love having a second injured hockey player on her plate."

Jack groans. "What do you suggest, then?"

Eric opens his mouth — he doesn't know what Parson's getting at, but it's clear that he's making Jack feel worse than he currently is.

He doesn't miss the way Parson stares at Jack, and the way Jack stares back as if they're having a silent debate Eric isn't privy to.

It only lasts a few seconds before Jack rubs his good hand against his face. "Fuck off, Parse, seriously," he says, without much venom to it.

"Okay, that's enough," Eric says, stepping in. "You need to get some rest, or we'll be having this conversation all night. Just come with me, it's for one night, goodness, and Elli will be thrilled to see you in the morning, anyway."

"You know you'll have to wake me up every four hours, right?" Jack asks, still hesitating.

He rolls his eyes, fondly, hands on his hips. "As if I don't have any experience with monitoring babies overnight."

Parson snorts at that, and Jack's lips stretch into a small smile, the first one since Eric's got in the room. "All right, if you say so."

" _Good_ ," Parson says. He drops a hand on Eric's shoulder, and squeezes, with a pointed look at Jack. What the hell? "Glad that's settled." He checks his phone and takes his hand back (thank you very much) to tap a quick text. "I have to get back to Alex and Boski. Have fun, kids. Jack; don't be an ass."

Eric's not sure when he'll be able to stop gaping. Jack, instead, rolls his eyes, a slight grin on his face. "Whatever. Bye," he says, resigned, before lifting his head. "Ah, did we win, though?"

In front of the door, Parson hesitates, and that's enough of an answer. "Sorry. You're still ahead if that makes it better."

Eric still has no idea what they're talking about, but judging by the look on Jack's face, it does not.

*

They're in bed an hour later, having spent a good portion of that time debating who would take the couch.

Eric was never going to let Jack win this one: he's _injured_ , lord, and Eric has developed skills for arguing with stubborn four-year-olds.

"Listen, Jack, you know me, and this is not a fight you're going to win," he had said before Jack caved in. "And you're getting tired. Just… take it."

"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed, you look like you could use the sleep, too." Eric had crossed his arms over his chest. _You did not_. He saw the moment Jack realized his mistake. "Not that I mean— Ah, fuck." He pressed his good hand over his eyes and sighed. "We could share. If you don't mind."

Eric puts his phone down on the night table, having set alarms throughout the night to wake Jack, and rolls on his back. It's peculiar, having someone in his bed — he hasn't shared this one before with anyone but a drunk Lardo, once — and it's even stranger that that person is _Jack_.

He swallows and reminds himself that he's slept beside his friends countless times. All platonically, of course. Considering he's had sex with Jack in the past, this shouldn't be weird… probably?

He's been lying there for a few minutes, conscious of the fact that Jack is awake too, before Jack coughs, trying to dissimulate a groan Eric heard perfectly well.

"Are you okay?" he asks, in a whisper.

"I'm fine."

He's a shit liar, really.

He turns on his side and stares at him. " _Jack_."

"I— It's my head. Hurts like hell. More than the times before when I got… Shit. I thought we might get it this time, but now, without Boski and Lucky… Câlisse. I'm getting old."

"Oh, Jack."

He shuffles closer to Jack until he can touch his head, petting away the wild hair at his temple. There's nothing he can say that will make Jack feel better. Nothing did, back when Eric got his concussion and couldn't make it to the end of the playoffs back at Samwell. And it's not like the stakes were this high.

The only thing he can do is listen, and be there for Jack. To try not to think about how he imagined this, just days ago, an easy, comfortable intimacy in bed with someone he knows like the inside of his pocket.

This is not it, though. It's just an interlude before he finds the real thing.

He wraps an arm around Jack and waits until his heaving chest calms down under his touch. There are a hundred things Jack isn't saying but Eric can imagine them: about the season, the playoffs, the Cup, the gnawing fear of not being enough, of never being enough as things are coming close to an end, Jack's body slowing down just when he needs to skate faster, harder, better. Eric knows it's a night like this that brings Jack to confront the inevitability that hockey has an end, and that there is a life to be lived after it. The first tick on a clock counting down to the moment he will lose hockey, the love of his life, just like Eric lost him all those years ago.

Jack's eyes are pale in the darkness of the room, and they shine at the corners, wet trails down his cheeks, his jaw, that Eric would like to swipe away with the pad of his thumb.

The voice in his head screams at him as he settles closer against Jack, wrapping himself around his body until Jack wiggles an arm under Eric's shoulder, bringing them even closer together.

 _It's what friends do_ , he reasons with the voice screaming at him. They fuss, they talk about the last game and the next, and they definitely don't kiss anything better.

"Sleep, Jack," he finally manages to say, because he can see the exhaustion and the medication kicking in.

Jack turns his head towards him. They're close. So close. "Try not to snore too much," he chuckles, faintly.

"I don't _snore_ ," he gasps.

He would know if he did. Lord, someone would have told him before.

Jack looks at the ceiling, a smile on his face. "Sure."

He narrows his eyes because that sounds like Coach when he agrees with Suzanne just to drop the matter. Just a bit. "I really don't."

He's about to reply when he notices that Jack's eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, his breathing finally gentle and regular. Soon enough, he follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... yes, the slow burn continues. :D And there was only one bed!!
> 
> Editing this chapter nearly killed me in the process (the original version was around 10k, ugh!), and I'm glad to say that it's the last of the super-long chapters. Following chapters will be around 5-6k, which will allow me to start posting again on Fridays with more regularity. See you next week!


	8. Chapter 8

It's nine in the morning by the time Jack joins them in the kitchen. It's the latest Eric's ever known Jack to sleep, but then again, he took another dose of painkillers in the middle of the night.

Eric's been up since six, woken by the sound of quick footsteps approaching the bedroom. He took a few minutes to explain the situation to Elli, to tell him that no, Jack does not have a robot arm but a sling instead (which is only slightly less cool on the scale of injuries) and that it is of the utmost importance not to disturb his sleep.

"Morning," Jack says, stepping into the kitchen.

His hair is a mess and there's a line from the pillow across his cheek, and it makes Eric want to hug him for a long time. He doesn't miss Jack's empty stare, eyes half-closed in the morning sunshine.

"Jaaaaack," Elli squeals, and runs over to squeeze his legs.

(Because "We can't be too loud this morning, sweetie," is a demand no child would ever understand.)

Jack smiles, although a bit painfully, and ruffles Elli's hair with his good hand. "Hey there, buddy." He looks up at Eric. "You're making breakfast?"

Eric smiles back. "Waffles. It's Sunday, so it's—"

"Nutella day!" Elli shouts like it's self-explanatory.

"That sounds awesome."

Jack sits down, and Eric goes to lift Elli on a stool as well before he turns to the coffee machine.

"How are you feeling?" Eric asks Jack.

"The shoulder's better." Jack shrugs. "The head not so much."

"I'm sorry."

"It'll take a few days. You know how it goes."

Sure, he does; they both know too well that this isn't Jack's first concussion, and he said it himself yesterday than it hurt more than before. Goodness, Eric doesn't wish retirement on Jack, but he'd rather not have him cause irretrievable damage to his body and mind either. Someone needs to take care of that boy.

"It was very scary?" Elli asks Jack, his voice small. "When he hit you?"

Jack looks up at Eric, a question written in his eyes, and Eric nods. He always tries to be as honest as possible with Elli.

"Yeah, it kinda was," Jack says. "The second time I fell, I was scared, because I know there was something wrong with my arm and my head."

"Was you hurting a lot?"

"I did when it happened, but now I'm okay, so that's good," he adds, with a feeble smile that makes Elli grin.

"Daddy said that it's scary but it's like when I fall on my bum when I skate and sometimes you have a bump but you're always okay in the end so that's not that scary and also Daddy said butt!"

" _No_ ," Jack gasps. "Did he really?"

He looks up at Eric again, laughter in his eyes like a secret between them, and just like that, everything is all right again.

*

Jack stays around.

For a day, and then another, and then a third.

As much as he put on a brave face the first morning, headaches are a bitch and Eric pretends not to notice when Jack stumbles, losing his balance here and there as he goes from one room to another. It doesn't take much to convince him to stay, since Jack isn't in a mood to argue in the first place. It gets a bit crowded, as Jack spends most of his time in the bedroom or on the sofa, not that Eric minds: his biggest worry is that either Elli will grow tired of being careful around Jack, or Jack will snap at Elli's outbursts of energy he gets throughout the day.

None of that happens, and the three of them cohabit with an easiness Eric wouldn't have suspected considering the context.

Jack grows moody because Jack is a silly man who refuses to be taken care of without being able to do anything in return. On day five, Eric catches him wincing while trying to do the dishes with _one_ hand, and Jack retreats to the bedroom, deflated. It's late and Eric is tired, but he still gives Jack a good hour alone in there before he gets in bed as well. Because that's another thing they're doing without talking about it.

Still, Jack is too tired to fight, and that, above everything else, worries Eric. In a constant state of simply existing around the apartment, it's clear that Jack is truly, truly hurting.

And then, one morning, Jack takes Elli to school.

The harsh sunlight in the kitchen doesn't affect the slight smile on his face, and that night, he makes the table, does the dishes, and stumbles towards the bedroom exhausted but visibly happy with himself.

"The least I can do is help around," Jack says. "I'm not half-bad at babysitting. Coach Z, remember?" he adds, with a wink.

"Lord, that kid adores you."

It's true: Elli loves Jack, even when Jack is being his less-than-social self. The other day, as Elli had just come back from preschool, Eric had warned him about being careful drawing in the living room since Jack had fallen asleep on the couch, watching TV. Half-an-hour later, when Eric had gone to investigate, finding the silence suspicious, he found Elli snuggled under Jack's arm, the pair of them peacefully asleep. One thing that Elli loves more than loudly talking about everything in existence is cuddling, and Jack apparently seems happy to deliver.

A few days after Jack's head starts feeling better, he moves back out to his apartment and starts following the Falconers through their games and on roadies as well. Elli is a bit perturbed by this sudden change and Eric himself misses Jack's constant presence. His invitation for Jack to join them whenever he wants stands: Jack pops around for dinner, and even brings Elli to a game the following weekend. Eric can't go — there's still much to be done on the cookbook, and his deadline is approaching at speed, lord — but Elli tells him everything afterward, about how he got to meet the guys and go in a real locker room and speak with the woman who operates the Zamboni, a personal hero of his.

Time flies as it always does, and then it's the end of March when Jack shows up on a Sunday morning, beanie on and car keys in one hand, with a surprise for Elli they've both been planning for a while.

"Hey, Elli, guess where we're going today?" Jack asks, and Elli's head pops up from behind the couch, like one of those little savannah animals.

"Tourist day?"

"Kind of, yeah," Jack says. "We're going further than Providence, this time, though."

Eric grins. "Can you guess, sweetie?"

"I dunno, I dunno! Gimme a clue!"

"Okay," Jack says. "We're going to a place you like to draw a lot."

Elli gasps. " _Lighthouse?_ "

"Yeah!"

"Daddy, 's that true?!"

"It is," Eric says, grinning.

It takes a while for them to get to the car, on the account that Elli's been running laps around the living room for the past five minutes while emitting the highest-pitched shriek known to man.

"Is it very far?" Elli asks once he's sat down and strapped in the kid’s seat.

"About an hour or so," Jack says, sitting down behind the wheel. His sling came off a few days ago, and even though he can't be back on the ice yet, he's allowed easy tasks like driving.

"Three Pokémon episodes," Eric translates because that's how Elli calculates any longer amount of time.

"Okay-dokay."

They've been on the road for five minutes and is Elli already halfway through the first snack Eric's planned for later when Jack asks, "Music?"

Eric laughs. "Are you sure?"

He's probably made him suffer enough with Beyoncé during their Samwell days, but Jack glances at him, a smile on his face like that's not a problem at all.

"I wanna croc rock!" Elli calls from the backseat.

"Croc rock?"

"Crocodile rock," Eric explains. Anything that has to do with animals is a big hit for Elli.

Jack nods. "Elton John. Great choice. I've got Bluetooth," he adds and sounds just a bit proud at that sudden upgrade in technology as if they're not sitting in a Tesla.

Great choice, indeed, but perhaps Jack regrets his words just a bit by the fourth time the song comes around, at Elli's demand.

*

They arrive at the lighthouse approximately after the thousandth "Are we there yet?", and Eric can see the exact moment Elli falls in love with the tall, imposing tower in front of them. He's pretty sure he had the same look in his eyes the first time he tasted pie, too.

There's no official tour or guide, so they are free to go around as they wish, Elli inspecting the outside of the lighthouse for long, long minutes while Eric stands in the cold. Jack, camera in hand, alternates by taking pictures of the landscape and of Elli as he places his little hands against the white stone of the tower, looking up at the light. They find a couple of tourists (who do not seem to recognize either Jack or Eric, thank goodness) to take a picture of the three of them standing on the cliff, the ocean, and the lighthouse behind them.

If Eric isn't as much in awe of the building as Elli, taking a day off feels great, and changing up their usual routine is even better. For the first time in a long while he feels entirely relaxed and something like frivolous, as Jack keeps cracking him up with horrible jokes.

By the time they get inside the lighthouse, Elli is asking a million of questions about every single object displayed or dent in the wall, and they try their best to explain it all with the few information boards around them.

Even more impressive is the round, iron staircase that curls right towards the top of the lighthouse.

Unsurprisingly, Elli tires out as they make it to the second landing. There’s still ten more to go.

"I can take him," Jack suggests.

Right. "With that shoulder of yours?"

"C'mon, it's not that bad."

"It's fine," Eric says as he picks Elli up. "I'll get my workout done for today."

Workout is a euphemism: it reminds him more of the brutal pace of Katya's morning trainings, with the added difficulty that if he topples, it's both him and Elli that are going down. Jack stays behind them, careful, and Eric steadies his right hand on the banister.

The ascension is slow, but Eric lets go of Elli for the last few steps and takes a moment to stretch his back. That boy is getting heavier and heavier every day.

He sighs at the sight of the door leading to the outside of the lighthouse. They've made it. He just hasn't anticipated a very small problem:

"Daddy," Elli whines, one hand tugging at Eric's jeans, the other holding the metal of the banister so tightly his knuckles are white. "Daddy I don't wanna go."

Eric gapes. "Why not?"

Elli is staring between the bars of the banister, an open view to the meters and meters they just escalated, the main room far away at the bottom.

"It's too high I'm gonna fall."

He's starting to cry, and Eric closes his eyes for a second. "Sweetheart, we came all this way, we have to see the view at least."

"No-oo!"

"Elliot!" he snaps, and of course it's not the right thing to do, because it makes Elli burst into tears.

Eric wants to sigh. Today was supposed to be uncomplicated. Maybe he could pretend to go outside and wait for Elli to follow, but the point is moot. He's not that kind of parent — he remembers too well the times when Suzanne would "leave" him behind in parking lots, and that's definitely not something he would do to his kid, how annoyed he is.

"Sweetheart, baby," he says, trying a gentler tone as he picks Elli up again. "Let's at least go through the door. I promise if you don't like it we'll go back inside."

Elli's arms tighten around his neck, as he hides his face in there, mumbling a desperate, "No!".

Eric glances at Jack, who offers a sorry smile and takes a step towards them. "Hey, buddy," he says, his voice low. "I know it's scary, but it's like the other scary thing we were talking about the other day, right? Sometimes things seem scarier than how they turn out to be, and we might miss on cool stuff if we don't try. And you're always going to be okay in the end, all right? Your Daddy's going to make sure of that, trust me."

Eric's eyes widen slightly but he redirects his attention towards Elli, bouncing him gently enough to soothe him a bit, and goes for the low hanging fruit. "Jack's right, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Look, I'll go first, eh?" Jack says. "You'll see, it's perfectly safe."

But the moment Jack takes a step through the door, Elli starts wailing so hard it makes the few people outside turn their heads towards them.

"Don't gooo-oh-oooh."

Jack hurries back inside, confusion and panic written over his face as if he's missed something horrible happening to them in the last three seconds.

"Hey, hey," he says to Elli. "There's no need to cry, buddy."

"Daddy— Daddy says it's— okay to cry."

"Oh yeah," Jack amends instantly. "That's true. You sure you don't want to try it out?"

Through hiccups, Elli nods vigorously.

Eric kisses Elli's temple, and moves to a corner of the room, to let the other visitors access the door.

"Okay, okay, sweetheart. We don't have to go. _Sorry_ ," he mouths, for Jack, because they came all this way and climbed all those stairs for… nothing.

"No, it's fine. Lighthouses are great from the outside, too."

Inexplicably, Jack plucks Elli's beanie from his head and replaces it with his own.

It falls over Elli's eyes, who squeals a quiet, "Hey!", his small hands lifting it until he can stare back at them again. "You put it!" he giggles, pointing at his own beanie.

"Me?" Jack says, with a gasp, but drops the small beanie on top of his head.

The way it forms a ridiculously small bell on top of his head makes Eric laugh along.

"Do I look good?" Jack asks, with a half-smile.

"You look silly," Elli laughs, just as Eric says, "Always."

Jack opens his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words, flush creeping on his cheeks, and it takes him a moment before he says, "Well, maybe I'll keep it, then."

Fifteen minutes later, they've safely made it to the ground, and they're chasing Elli around the lighthouse, wondering out loud where he is as if they can't hear manic giggling around the curve of the wall.

They decide in hushed whispers to split around the tower to catch Elli that way, but the kid is cleverer than them, because Eric ends up running head-first into Jack, and takes both of them to the ground, in a heap of laughter.

"Oh my god, your shoulder!" Eric realizes, far too late in his opinion as Jack stands back up and shakes the pain off.

"Eh, I'm fine. We still haven't caught Elli, though."

It takes them a few more minutes to finally catch Elli, and after a quick break to eat sandwiches on the beach swept by cold winds, they get back in the car, Jack behind the wheel again even though Eric can see his shoulder is getting stiff.

"Maybe you could try to nap a bit, sweetheart?" Eric asks Elli, who's still clinging on Jack's beanie in the back of the car.

They're well past his usual nap hour, and Eric can see that he's tired, but nap time isn't something Elli is ever willing to cooperate about.

"No. I wanna tell Jack a story."

"A story?" Jack asks, and Eric bites on his lip: Elli's stories are the funniest things he's ever heard. That child has way too much imagination.

"Yeah!"

"All right, let's hear it."

"It's a goldfish," Elli starts, "'cept that he's a lion too and one day he goes to the woods like Little Red Riding Hood and he ROARS!"

"Whoa, awesome. What happens next?"

Eric stifles a laugh.

"Thass' it." Elli shrugs. "The end."

There's a pause, and Eric can _hear_ Jack's confusion. "So, he roars and that's the end of the story?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay," Jack says, visibly trying not to laugh. "That's a great story."

"I know! You tell one, now."

"Elliot," Eric warns.

" _Please_ ," Elli amends.

"Maybe Jack doesn't want to tell a story."

"Nah, it's fine," Jack says. "I can do that." He clears his throat and thinks for a second, eyes on the road. Then: "Once upon a time, far, far away, there was a little boy—"

"A boy!"

"Yeah, there was a little boy who lived in a lighthouse."

"A lighthouse! Like the one we just saw!"

"Exactly!" Jack says as if it's a pure coincidence or something. "So, this little boy lived in the lighthouse with his many animal friends. He had a dog, a cat…"

Jack's gaze trails to the rear mirror, prompting Elli to complete.

"A duck!"

"A duck."

"A capybara!"

"A capybara, and…"

"A Bidoof!"

"All right," Jack chuckles. "The little boy had a dog, a cat, a duck, a capybara, and a Bidoof. They were all very good friends and they all helped the little boy tend the lighthouse. One day, there was a bad storm outside, so the little boy and all his animal friends were playing inside the lighthouse when they heard a noise."

"A noise?"

"Yes. It was a strange noise, very loud, and nothing they've ever heard before. _Whooshhh_. _Whooshhhh_."

Checking in the rearview mirror, Eric can see Elli's eyes widening. "What is it? Big wind?"

"They're not sure, exactly. It seems to be coming from above them, so they look up, but they can't see anything. But the noise keeps getting louder. _Whooosh. Whoooosh_. Instead of up, they look down, and they see a shadow, gliding over the ground."

"A shadow?"

"Yes, a shadow, appearing in time with the noise. _Whooshh. Whooooosh_."

Elli gasps and Eric straightens himself on the seat, smiling at how rapt he is himself listening to the story.

" _It looks like it's coming from the top of the lighthouse_ , Dog says," and lord, Jack is doing the voices. It would make Elli laugh, except that he's finally dozing on the back seat. " _What should we do?_ Duck asks. _Maybe the bravest of us all should walk up the stairs, and go take a look_. All the animal friends agree and decide that the little boy is the bravest of them all, except that the little boy isn't so sure of that. But he doesn't want to disappoint his animal friends, so he starts climbing the stairs. One step, two steps, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…"

Jack throws a look in the mirror again, and Eric cranks his head to the side to take a look at Elli, lax and asleep in his seat.

"Harshest critic. Just as it was getting interesting," Jack whispers, making Eric grin.

"That's an amazing story. Are you really making it up along as you go?"

"Yup. I thought it showed, I was really stalling for time, there."

"Best way to make him fall asleep, to be honest. Sorry about today, by the way," he adds. "It was a lovely idea, but kids are unpredictable, I guess."

"Eh, it's fine. He had fun in the end, that's the most important."

Eric smiles and lets his head against the headrest. "Well, in any case, thank you for today." It had, after all, been Jack's idea, and not something they could have done without a car. "It was a much-needed break."

As an answer, Jack turns his head to smile at him, and the moment stretches in time as Eric's heart does something complicated in his chest.

It couldn't have been that long, though, because Jack's gaze returns to the road in front of them soon enough. He rolls his bad shoulder — Eric definitely should have insisted on driving, ugh — and rests his hand on the console between them. It feels like an invitation, even though Eric knows it isn't Jack's intent. What if he were to take his hand, right now, and link their fingers together?

No — he has to stop thinking about this as if it is in the realm of possibilities. They tried it before, and it didn't work. There's no proof that it's something Jack would want in the first place. Jack's all about hockey right now, as he should be, and even though Eric knows Jack is bi, he can't help but torture himself with the idea that a retired Jack will nonetheless choose the wife and kids and house and Labrador like every other hockey player. They just have different trajectories, and Eric is grateful that Jack gets to be back in his life in the first place. What Eric needs is to find someone who will fit in his. And Elli's, of course.

His phone pings in his hand, and it's like the universe has heard his call:

_(416) 285-2020: Hey Eric, it's Marco from the bakery. Can I take you out for dinner this week?_

It takes him a moment, but he remembers the man who had flirted with him last week, during his shift at the bakery. Yet, he isn't sure what to answer: he did tell himself he wanted to start dating again, it's just that… Marco, really? The man seemed a bit uptight. Business boy in a tie and suit, clearly ready to take his coffee and leave as soon as possible until his eyes had landed on Eric. Why does he keep attracting Italian men, by the way? What's up with that?

He shifts on his seat. It's a bit uncomfortable, texting another man while he's sitting in Jack's car. That thought makes him swallow, hard.

Jack frowns. "Everything all right?"

"Yes, of course."

He offers a weak smile before his attention turns back to his phone. Marco might not exactly be Prince Charming, but agreeing to meet him would be a good way to get back into the dating world.

_Eric: Sure!!_ 😊

When he looks up again, he notices that they're not far from home.

"Could you just drive for a bit more?" he asks Jack. "I don't want to wake him up yet, or he'll be cranky all evening," he adds, cocking his head towards Elli.

"No problem," Jack whispers back, and signals to turn at the next intersection.

*

Saturday night, Eric is privy to the most amusing conversation he has heard in a while.

"Why do you speak in English but you sing in French?" Elli had asked, sitting on the carpet in the living room, building some sort of monstrous Lego tower with Jack's help.

Eric had played along for a while before excusing himself to the kitchen, to work on dinner and yet another batch of strawberry jam, keeping an eye on them. From the kitchen, he can see Jack's head and shoulders over the sofa as he's kneeling on the floor, along with the mountain of Legos that is reaching an alarming height.

"That's because my mom speaks English," Jack says, "and my dad speaks French. So I learned both when I was growing up."

"Why?"

"Well, my mom is from the States, and my dad is from Québec."

"Why?"

"Why is my dad from Québec? He was born there, like me."

"Why?"

"Uh, I'm not sure how to answer that. Because my grandparents were living there? Do you want me to tell you more about Québec?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, it's a province of Canada, which is a country."

"Is that very far away?"

Jack hesitates. "Not that much. A few hours by car."

"Canada speaks French?"

"Ha, not all of Canada, no, they mostly speak English. But people do speak French in Québec."

Eric can predict the next question.

"Why?"

(And he thought that Elli leaving the "no" phase would be a well-deserved break.)

"Because a long, long time ago, explorers came from France and from Great Britain. Those from France spoke French, and they settled in Québec, while those from Great Britain spoke English and they settled in the United States."

"A long long time ago when you was a kid?"

"No, way before that."

"Oooh," Elli gasps. " _That's_ old."

Eric gapes at them, but Jack brushes it off with laughter. "It is."

"Is France very far away?" Elli asks.

"It is very far, yes."

"By car?"

"No, you'd have to take a plane to go there, or a boat. There's a lot of water between America and Europe."

"Like a pool?"

Jack chuckles. It's so fun to see how a kid's perceptions are skewed when they're small. Last weekend was an eternity ago, and there's only a pool between America and Europe.

"No," Jack says, "an ocean is a lot bigger than a pool. You remember when we went to the lighthouse, all that water in front of us?"

"Yeah!"

"That's the ocean! France would be on the other side of it."

"Why?"

"Well, it's on another continent."

"Why?"

It takes Jack a moment to answer. "You know when you're in the bath, and you have toys floating around? The Earth is like that. The continents are like toys, they float on the water, and that makes them move. But the continents are very, very big, so they move very slowly, over hundreds and hundreds of years. There was a time when America and Europe, where France is, were only one continent, but they started to move apart, and now there's an ocean between them."

"Why?"

"Okay, Elli," Eric says because this reminds him of the time when Elli was two and asking every single question in the book until Eric had to explain why this exact bug was crossing the road on the way to the park. It's not that he wants to censor Elli's curiosity, far from it, but his "whys" can get a bit… nonsensical. "I think Jack gave you a very good answer there."

"Ha, I don't mind," Jack says. "I need to put that history degree to use, at some point."

Eric chuckles. "If you say so."

He redirects his attention to the recipe he's scribbling on a sheet of paper, hearing Elli ask, "What's a history degree?" in the background when his phone pings.

_Marco: Hey, are we still on about tonight? I'm at the restaurant but I don't see you._

He drops the phone with a gasp. "Shoot!"

He completely forgot about his date tonight. Shit. _Shit!_ It's too late to call Melanie to babysit Elli, since it's exam week, and he already has a guest over. But getting stood up is frankly one of the worst things, and it's rude as hell—

"Everything all right?" Jack asks, from the living room.

"I, uh— I forgot I had a date, tonight," he says, sheepishly, because there is no way in hell Jack isn't judging him hard right now.

"Oh." Jack frowns. "Is it too late to join him?"

"I, well— lord, he's waiting at the restaurant. I'll have to cancel, there's no way Melanie can make it in time even if she could come over to watch over Elli. And you're here, so. I'll just cancel," he says, resigned, unlocking his phone.

"I could do it."

It takes Eric a moment to register's Jack words. "Do what?"

"Watch over Elli." Jack stands up, and crosses over to the kitchen, his gaze intense. "You should go if he's still there."

"No, goodness, thank you Jack, but that's not happening. You're my friend, not my babysitter. I'll reschedule, it'll be fine."

He doubts Marco would be interested in that after being stood up, but oh well.

Jack's frown only intensifies. "Seriously, Bittle, you've helped me out when I was injured, this is the least I could do for you."

Eric gapes. There is no need to repay him in any way or form — Jack's company is enough. It will always be enough.

He hesitates for a second too long, and Jack notices. He takes another step, closing the distance between them.

" _Go_ ," he says. "We'll be fine. Food's nearly done, and we'll probably play Legos and watch Pokémon until he goes to sleep."

Eric clears his throat. "Are you sure? I mean, he's Italian, so he's probably used to people being late…", he tries for levity.

Jack quirks an eyebrow. "Italian? A real one, this time, I hope?"

"Ha-ha, very funny. Yes, a _real_ one."

Jack bites on his lower lip, probably stifling another chirp. "Of course I'm sure. And I can finish the jam if you tell me how."

"Oh no, you're not touching my jam, mister," he teases. Not when he's so close to getting the recipe right.

Jack smiles. "Just go, Bittle. We'll be fine."

"All right, all right, _if_ you're sure," he says, defeated. "I have to get ready— oh my god, I'm so late."

He quickly sends a quick apology to Marco for his delay, before he steps into the bathroom. He lets himself have five minutes to get ready, but he puts on his nicest, light pink shirt, and quickly arranges his hair. It'll have to do for now, since there's no time for anything else, but it doesn't stop Elli from gasping as Eric steps out of the bathroom. Behind him, Jack stands, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Daddy! You look so pretty!"

"Aw, thank you, sweetheart." He bends down, engulfing Elli in a hug, before he boops his nose. "Now, you be a good boy okay? You listen to Jack and you do what he says?"

"Yeah! We gonna build a lighthouse with Lego, Jack says!"

"That's great! Have fun, baby."

Eric stands back up and goes to Jack for a quick hug. " _Thank you_ ," he says again. "Really."

He's going to bake him, like, a hundred pies when he gets back.

"You're welcome. Go, now, or you'll be late."

"I'm already late," he says, stepping through the door.

Elli's starting to get tears in his eyes. Jack catches on that and picks him up as Elli waves to Eric. "Bye-bye, Daddy."

Shaking his head, Eric comes back inside for a quick kiss on top of Elli's head.

"Be good," he says. "I'll see you in the morning."

*

Half-an-hour into the actual date, Eric wonders why he bothered in the first place.

Unlike Matt, who never cared about the abstract notion of time, it's clear that Marco is another type of Italian. He made a whole show of being displeased against Eric's effusive apologies and kept being snide about it during the conversation. Then, it became all about Marco, his incredibly boring desk job, and the thousand problems he faces with his asshole colleagues, who don't seem that asshole-ish from Eric's point of view considering who they're working with.

It's not _all_ bad. Marco has a nice smile and they talk for a whole ten minutes about Italy. Eric mentions the time he went there with Matt for a week and Marco redirects that conversation about his childhood in Milan and _isn't American fashion so boring when you know how they do things in Europe?_

They're halfway through dinner (thank God) when Eric's phone, which he has left on the table, pings.

"Do you mind?" he asks because he would never be that impolite but it might be about Elli.

"Go ahead," Marco says, picking up his wine glass.

With a quick look, he reads the text appearing on his screen.

_Jack: Dinner's done and eaten. We're watching a documentary about capybaras, now. :-)_

Eric smiles. Are they doing documentaries on Pokémons, now? Is that a thing?

"Everything okay?" Marco asks, curious.

"Yes, sorry. It's just that I've left my kid with a friend and—"

"You have a _child_?"

"I— uh, yes?" Didn't he mention that back at the bakery? Lord, he didn't, did he? "You, uh, you seem surprised?"

"No, it's just that…" Marco frowns. "Well, you're young. And, uh, aren't you gay?"

It's Eric's turn to stare. Wonderful. He's on a date with _that_ type of guy. He'd like to say that, no, he's bi, and that Elli's his biological kid just to see where this would go because he assumes it wouldn't be in a nice direction. He doesn't want to make a scene at the restaurant, though.

"I am," he simply replies.

Marco shifts on his chair, uncomfortable, but doesn't push it. Well, he won't be called back in a few days. Not that Eric is desperate enough to go on a second date with him anyway.

"Okay. It's just, surprising, that's all," Marco says. He takes a moment, and then, inevitably: "Makes me think about that time when Tina from HR said that—"

Eric tunes out, not even bothering to pretend to show he cares about what Tina from HR said two weeks ago, anger still simmering low in his guts.

What's up with men balking every time he mentions Elli? Not everybody wants to have kids or date someone who has them, of course, but must it always come with a frustrating mix of surprise and condescension?

It's fucked up. As if he isn't masculine enough to be a father to someone, to fully assume that role without a second person by his side. Or is it because it implies that he must have had sex with a woman at some point? Lord, Eric is as gay as it gets, but at least he isn't so goddamn insecure about it. As if you're less queer if you've explored your orientation. _A load of biphobic bullshit, bro_ , Shitty would say.

It's always the same thing: the men around him only seem interested as long as they think he's some sort of blank slate, waiting for them to arrive and be seduced and then start a family on their own terms. It's frustrating as hell. He knows what he looks like, how he dresses, what image he gives with his mannerisms, his baking, but it's not a reason to consider him less than he is. _Oh, you know lots about hockey? That's cute. Did you play? Aw, but you're tiny for hockey. You mean as a kid, right? Surely you don't play anymore? You bake? That's great, I never opened a cookbook and wouldn't if my life were on the line! Bet you would look great in my kitchen, wink-wink._

He just really wants someone who gets him fully. Who sees him for who he is, and all of what he is. He wants to be his partner's equal, whether he's kicking ass at hockey or dancing on Bey's music while baking in the kitchen. Someone who will be a father to Elli, in time, who will love him unconditionally and without a second thought about biology. Is that too damn much to ask?

His phone pings with a notification, and he's brought back to the present moment, his eyes on Marco's moving lips without registering a word of what he's saying. Not that Marco would notice or mind.

Slowly, Eric unlocks his phone, and stares at Jack's latest message: it's a selfie (lord, Jack Zimmermann taking selfies) of Jack lying down on the couch, Elli spread out on his chest, eyes closed, a fist clenched in the front of Jack's tee-shirt as he's very clearly drooling on him. The upper corner of the picture cuts just above Jack's jaw, showing his victorious smirk.

_Jack: Little one's out. 1-0 for me. :-)_

It hits Eric with so much force and speed that the room around him disappears.

_Why is he searching?_

He stands up. Clears his throat.

"Something wrong?" Marco asks.

_Why, on Earth, is he searching?_

"No, yes— my kid— my friend—" He shakes his head, throws a twenty on the table. "Sorry. Gotta go."

It's raining outside and he hasn't brought an umbrella. It's a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant to his apartment, but he can run.

He runs.

He makes it in ten minutes, and jumps up the stairs, two by two until he reaches the door of his apartment.

It's locked. He hasn't got his key — it's in a pocket, maybe, or maybe he forgot at the restaurant, or maybe at home—

He knocks.

Again. And again.

Jack opens the door after the third time, worry written all over his face, worry that increases when he sees Eric standing there, like a panting madman who's soaked through after having run a mile in the rain.

He can only stare at Jack. If Jack— If Jack wants it as well…

"Bittle," Jack asks, hand still on the door, in shock. "Something wrong?"

Why, why on Earth is he searching so far, when the answer's waiting at home, putting his child to sleep?

"It's you."

Jack's eyes widen. "Yeah, uh, yeah, it's me. I told you I would stay? Did something happen?"

_Oh, you beautiful dork_. "No, I mean, it's always been you, Jack."

He sees it, the moment it clicks in Jack's mind, because his face does a funny thing Eric can't quite explain in words, and it only lasts a second because he throws his arms around Jack's shoulders and presses their lips together.

And Jack kisses back, fiercely.

Oh. This boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... :D
> 
> I was four when I told my godparents the "It's a goldfish except it's a lion" story, and here we are, twenty years later!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be around 9k initially, but it took me a long time to edit since I was not entirely happy with the first version. It's also mid-semester here so I knew I would be late, and I finally decided to split chapter 9 in two parts, since I found a nice way to make a clean cut in the middle of the chapter, so that you can get an update this weekend. And it means that we're adding a chapter to the chapter count! :D Enjoy!
> 
> My coffee machine broke last week, so as always, but now more than ever, biggest thanks to nautilicious who thankfully spared you all of the mental image of "Jack's erectionS". There's a fic prompt in that phrase, I'm sure. ;) 
> 
> Chapter rated E!

The fierceness with which Jack kisses him back makes Eric gasp because it can only mean one thing.

"I— _Jack_ ," he breathes out, pressing their foreheads together.

Jack's eyes are so wide that Eric could get lost in them if it weren't for Jack's gentle hands, on both sides of his face, anchoring him into the present moment.

Jack's mouth drops open as if shocked at his own actions but even then, it takes him a moment. "Bittle."

Eric licks his lower lip, gaze unwavering. "Jack— lord— for how long?"

Jack blinks. "I— since you showed up at that game."

Tears prickle at the back of his eyes. They have denied each other for so long. "We're _idiots_."

"You?" Jack whispers.

"It never really stopped."

Jack claims his mouth again, wrapping his arms around him, and Eric can't help but melt against him. It feels at once too good to be true and just about eight years late. Jack wants this too. _Jack wants him_.

Jack's lips are warm and insistent and the kiss is just a bit desperate, frantic like their first-ever, all those years ago, which had been all about nervous touches and teeth clinking together. They've gotten better at it — Jack had been his first, after all — and the thought makes him smile as he nips at Jack's full, lower lip.

Still, it's like he's twenty again, with two hands too many to know what to do with them, where to place them on Jack's body. There are just too many possibilities and so many years to catch up to.

Jack's ass is probably a good place to start, though.

Eric slides his hands down to tuck them in the back pockets of Jack's jeans, just as Jack's hands come to rest on either side of his neck, his collarbones, a silent question as his thumb drags down the collar of his soaked shirt.

Eric deepens the kiss, hoping Jack will get the hint, because goodness, if he doesn't get in Jack's pants right this minute—

_Clang!_

He wasn't aware they had backed away into the kitchen until Jack collides with one of the stools, which nearly takes him on the floor as well but Eric yanks on his waist at the last second, pulling him back into his embrace.

"Ah— câlisse," Jack lets out, pushing the stool out of the way with a blind hand behind his back.

Eric chuckles, and it clashes with the kiss Jack is trying to steal before he settles on the corner of Eric's mouth.

Running a hand through Jack's hair, Eric closes his eyes and lets himself feel: Jack's stubble is prickly against his skin as Jack travels his lips down Eric's neck. Then, a hint of teeth at that spot under his jaw Jack discovered all those years ago (he remembered, ridiculous man) and oh— if that doesn't go right to his cock.

" _Jack_ ," he lets out, his hands blindly going for Jack's waist, who hums in answer.

He grabs onto the hem of Jack's t-shirt and lifts it until Jack has to take a step back to pull it over his head and throw it on the floor in a single movement.

Oh god, so much skin.

Chest.

Abs.

Jack barely lets him stare, pressing their bodies together once more, walking Eric backward towards the living room, every step accompanied with urgent kisses.

"Yeah?" Jack breathes out, his hands gently tugging his shirt out of his pants, and Eric knows exactly what he's asking.

He grins and shakes his coat off his shoulders. God, he wants this more than anything else. "Yeah."

He's sure for a second that Jack will throw him on the couch and have him here and now, but instead, Jack presses their foreheads together, most half-open, at a loss for words again. "Bitty."

There is something so adoring in Jack's gaze that it makes his heart skip a beat — had it been there all along? Or is Jack letting himself show now that he can?

"Oh, Jack, I know." He can't believe it either.

He wraps his arms around Jack's neck and climbs on his toes to kiss him again, pushing his tongue in Jack's mouth, and it's like the previous moment hasn't happened, considering the force with which Jack wraps his arm around him, nearly lifting him off the floor.

It takes a minute for Eric's shirt to come off, giggling in each other's mouths as their uncoordinated hands keep bumping together until enough buttons are undone and Eric can pull it over his head, and then it's skin against skin. His chest is cold against Jack's, a bit wet from his soaked shirt, and the contrast makes Eric shiver.

"Ugh, I'm freezing."

He's not sure Jack registers his words — a frown on his face, he's trying to pull down Eric's pants with great difficulty, considering how much they're clinging to his skin.

"I'll warm you up," Jack says, and it's so bad that Eric makes him come up again and kisses him for it.

The back of Jack's knees hit the sofa, and they topple over, still laughing, but Eric doesn't miss the way Jack winces when his shoulder hits the cushioned surface.

"Watch out— your shoulder—" he mumbles against Jack's mouth, spreading on top of him while avoiding his bad side.

"Fuck my shoulder," Jack says because of course, he would. Still, Eric makes the mental note to watch out for it.

He wiggles a bit, kicking his pants off his legs and then onto the floor. Jack might be the human incarnation of a space heater but Eric's still trembling, both from need and from the cold. Jack must have noticed, because he rubs Eric's arms before he slips his hands down his back and under the band of his boxers, kneading his ass, bringing them flush together.

"Oh lord—"

He can't help but grind down against Jack's abs, his thigh falling in place against where Jack is hard and wanting.

Jack wants him. Jack wants him, Eric Bittle, of all people. Jack is hard for him. God.

He slips a hand down and finds Jack's erection through his jeans, swallowing the ungodly sound Jack makes as he presses his palm against it.

"Bits, fuck—" he gasps, working Eric's boxers down until his erection comes free with a slap against his belly. "Bitty—"

"Let me, let me," Eric says and stands back up to pull his underwear off.

Lord, he feels exposed for a second there, naked and aroused in the middle of his living room — it's not like he's fully maintained the body he had back in his Samwell days — but from the way Jack's gaze drags up and down his body… Well, the boy looks like he's just won the lottery.

It feels even truer the other way around, from the persistent flush on Jack's cheeks, his messy hair and his lips, swollen pink from kissing. Oh, fuck.

He lifts one leg and tucks his knee between Jack and the back of the couch, and hooks two fingers in front of Jack's jeans, pulling at the band. "Off," he says, with a smirk.

They have to shuffle around a bit, but the moment Jack's clothes are off, it gets blurry in the most heavenly way: naked body against naked body, hands everywhere at once. Jack's heavy cock is leaking against his belly, making Eric's mouth water. He'd try something more elaborate if his mind wasn't dizzy with the need to stay as close as possible to Jack as if there's a possibility that all of this is only a dream that would end abruptly if he let go of him. There is nothing wrong with this — on the contrary, considering the way arousal pulses painfully low in his stomach the moment his cock aligns with Jack, it'll be over sooner than he'd like.

He licks the palm of his hand and drops it between them, fingers closing on Jack's dick. Jesus. He almost forgot. It's not like size ever mattered in Eric choosing a partner, but a boy can be appreciative, and Jack is all in proportion.

He strokes once, twice, "Tell me—"

Jack's eyes squeeze shut. "—so fucking good, Bits."

He'll take it — he places a kiss on Jack's trembling lips, before shifting his attention to his jaw, his neck. He might be leaving a mark there, but he's too far gone to care.

He hears the distinct noise of Jack spitting, and a second later, Jack's wet hand closes around his cock, fingers so lightly curled around him that his jaw goes slack in the crook of Jack's neck.

It's like Jack is everywhere at once, and it's nearly overwhelming as if the world has centered around them, around this exact moment, leaving everything else a distant blur.

Nothing else matters, apart from the distant voice at the back of his head telling him that Jack wants this too, Jack is in love with him, after eight years still. This time won't have to be the last, not when it feels like standing on a cliff, at the very edge of a future with Jack. Exhilarating and just a bit scary too.

It's messy and uncoordinated but Eric wouldn't have it any other way as he clings onto Jack, the couch squeaking against the floor. He tries to remember to stay quiet but he's sure a moan slips here and there, and lord, he's close, he's so close—

"Bits," Jack pants, his fist flying over Eric's dick. "Oh fuck."

He comes with Jack's mouth on his, stifling his cry, his cock pulsing between them as Jack's fist flies over it.

It's so intense it blinds him for a moment or two, and when he comes back down from the high, Jack is grinding his cock against him, smearing Eric's come all over his belly, the couch, scooting on the floor, now.

"Jack, _Jack_."

" _Bittle_."

Jack comes with Eric's hands on his sides, panting in his ear, and it's so intense it seems like the world is tipping one way — _seems_ , until Jack's back hits the floor, Eric on top of him, the fall cutting his breath.

" _Câ-lisse_!" Jack shouts, a hand flying at his shoulder, and Eric rolls off him in the same movement.

"Oh my god, your shoulder!"

"No," Jack groans, sitting up. He passes a hand in his back, and a piece of plastic falls to the floor with a soft _clink_ Eric instantly recognizes. "Lego."

"That's even worse!" Jack twists to show him his back, the red imprint of the Lego persisting, beside which Eric presses his fingers. "Aw, honey, that's bound to bruise."

"S'okay," Jack says, and leans in to kiss him, softly, still panting a bit. "I think I broke your couch."

Eric throws a look at it: one of its feet has broken in half and the upper part still attached to the couch has cut through and ripped the leather as they crashed.

"Well," Eric says, chasing Jack's lips, "I say it was worth it."

It's something he'll worry about later. For now, Jack's hands are gentle on his sides, his waist, as they kiss without hurry. Until…

"Daddy?"

" _Oh my god_."

His first instinct is to shove Jack to the ground — back against the Legos, ouch — just as he reaches for the throw on the now-dead couch. He jumps up on his feet, wrapping himself in it, and there's Elli, a small shadow standing near the end of the hallway, staring at him, eyes narrow. From this angle, the couch and side table should hide Jack fairly well, thank god.

"Elli! Why aren't you sleeping?" he asks. His voice is two octaves higher than usual.

"There was a big noise. Like thunder."

He clears his throat. "Oh, no, it's nothing like that, sweetheart. Jack and I were… playing, and we broke the couch. But everything's all right, I promise."

"Mmmmkay," Elli answers, sounding a bit irritated. "You having a sleepover?"

"Yes!"

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Jack staring right back at him, eyebrows raised. Oh, God, Eric can't lose it _now_.

"Okay, well, can y’all be more quiet, please?" Elli says. "Some people are trying to sleep here," he adds, and it sounds so directly out of Eric's mouth that it makes Jack wheeze.

Eric nudges him with the tip of his foot.

"I promise we'll be quiet now. Go back to bed, sweetheart."

Elli looks dubious, but says, "G'night, Daddy."

"Good night, Elliot."

It's only when the small footsteps fade down the corridor, and that he hears the distinct sound of a door closing that Eric sighs with relief.

He extends his hand to pull Jack back up on his feet. "Goodness. We're _never_ doing that out here again."

Jack winces before he links their fingers together. "Sorry." The way his hand slots with Eric's is easy as if they had done this a thousand times already. "You think he saw me?"

"I don't think so." He lifts himself on the tip of his toes, to kiss Jack again. "Stay the night?

"Yeah, okay."

"Then to bed with you, mister. I'll just check on Elli if you don't mind."

"Okay," Jack repeats, although the kiss continues for a minute or two, neither of them inclined to part. "Okay, _go_."

Eric chuckles, and lets go.

He makes it quick, just checking that Elli is indeed asleep, and then goes to the bathroom to clean himself a bit. Once he steps into the bedroom, he can't even hide the grin that creeps on his face at the sight of Jack in his bed. This is real.

Jack smiles back and lifts the duvet as Eric gets in, tucking himself against Jack's warm body. Hmm. Comfy.

"He sleeping?" Jack asks, in a whisper.

"Dead to the world."

They make out, lazily, Eric's brain still quietly buzzing from the aftermath of his orgasm. He doesn't want to think about anything but the fact that Jack is here, naked in his bed, but Jack seems to have other plans.

"We should talk," Jack says, softly, as their lips part.

Eric rolls on his back and sighs. "Should we?"

It's the mature thing to do, of course, but he'd rather hope they would continue with the mindless sex and making out. Talking is complicated and messy, and the specifics of their lives, their schedules, their goals, even more so. He just wants to enjoy the dream as long as he can. It feels fragile enough like that.

"Bitty," Jack says, propping himself on his elbows, and Eric can hear that fragility in his voice, in the careful way he looks at him. "I… really want this to work out. Unless… Was this just for tonight?"

Eric's throat goes dry at the thought: they're finally together again, and he'd rather have it for longer than a single night, unlike last time. Then again, for that to happen, they do need to talk about it.

"Jack, no," he says, quickly. "Unless that's what you want?"

_Please say no. Please say no._

"I— Jesus, Bitty, I love you."

It's so raw, a non sequitur that makes Eric close his eyes for a second. He never thought he'd get this. He was content with Jack being his friend, imposing limits on what he thought was possible when, in fact, Jack had been in love with him _all this time_.

"Hey, hey," Jack whispers, a panicked edge on his voice, and it's only when a thumb sweeps over Eric's cheek that he's realized he's been crying.

His eyes fly open just as Jack brings him back against his chest, arms circling his body, rocking him a bit.

"Oh, Lord, I'm sorry— I didn't mean to—"

Can he please stop crying on Jack every time he interacts with him? It's terribly unsexy. A wonder Jack hasn't run away yet.

"It's okay, it's okay, I— uh—"

" _Oh my god_ ," Eric gasps, as Jack's tone turns awkward, "you silly man, of course, I love you too! I'm crying because I love you so much, goodness."

Jack's frown smooths out a bit. "Oh, uh… Good. I'm glad." He pauses. "Not that you're crying, obviously…"

Looking outright pained, Jack crunches his eyes shut, and mouthes three distinct syllables that most likely form a swear.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Eric snorts, unable to hide away his laughter. He's in love with the sweetest, handsomest, silliest boy on this planet. And however much of an awkward dork Jack manages to be, it's just that much more charming.

"Bits?" Jack asks, sounding more concerned than ever, considering Eric just went straight up from crying to wheezing.

"No, no, it's— C'mere," he says, and sits up a bit, just enough to find Jack's lips again. "I love you."

It's the honest-to-God truth. It's always been there, and it will always be there, whatever happens between them. It's a part of him, now, even though he had to put it away for a very long time, like something precious hidden in a small box he gets to rediscover years later. It's not _I am happy that you are happy_ , anymore, it's _I am happy I can make you happy_. And Eric plans on doing just that.

He needs to clarify something, though. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

Their foreheads pressed together, Jack sighs. "I don't know. I guess I felt lucky enough to have you back as a friend. And you have a life, a kid, I'm just…"

"The best hockey player in the NHL, with thousands of admiring fans that would do anything to date you not to mind a random baker with a kid."

“Random? You’re my best friend.” Jack's mouth falls half-open, a frown on his face. "Were you really thinking that?"

Eric bites on his lower lip and cocks his head to the side.

"We're idiots."

He laughs and presses a kiss to the corner of Jack's mouth. "We are. Maybe we haven't changed that much."

"All this time and we could have—"

"I don't care," Eric says. "You're here now. Goodness, I'm ridiculously happy about that."

Jack kisses him, leaning back until they're both lying back on the bed.

"So, we're doing this," Jack says, a bit breathless, once they part. "Shit. I don't… I don't want to fuck this up."

In the darkness of the room, his voice sounds small, unsure. It's also not something that 2015-Jack would have ever admitted, and Eric loves him only more for it.

"Oh, honey." Jack's head resting on his bicep, Eric curls his hand to gently run his fingers through Jack's hair. "Don't mind what I just said, we're not in college anymore. Last time is not repeating itself, not if we're smart about it."

Jack settles against him, curling an arm over his chest. "Tell me what you want, then?" Eric quirks an eyebrow, and Jack snorts. "What? I've learned _some_ things."

What does Eric want? He wants Jack, forever. It's as simple as that, though, as they both know, more so in theory than in practice. But so many things have changed since last time. They've both been in relationships, they experienced the world single and in couple, and as a parent in Eric's case. And now they get to have this, together, for good if they play it right. And Eric knows it'll work — Jack is trying so hard, he has been, ever since he showed up at the arena. And Eric can recognize that they've both grown. Enough to make this feel right. Easy, even.

It's not a discussion to bring up on the first night, though. Pressure was what undid them in the first place, and Eric isn't making that mistake again.

"I'd like…" Lord. As much as he's convinced, what if Jack doesn't want the same? Maybe Jack should have gone first. But then, Eric is the one with the kid. "I guess I'm thinking long term, here," he admits. "We're not twenty anymore." (Jack snorts — okay, Eric is twenty-eight, but still.) "Hush, you. I know this can work. I want… I want you. I want you to be involved… in my life, and, lord, in Elli's life too, of course. If you want it too."

He bites on his lower lip as he realizes the one opinion they aren't considering right now is Elli's. It's always been him and Eric, and even though Jack has slowly been incorporated more and more in their lives, it's not the same as actually dating the man. What if Elli isn't happy? What if he feels betrayed by his own father? Elli loves Jack, he does, but what if he thinks that Eric is choosing someone else over him? Lord knows that's not true, but Elli's _four_.

Jack's arm tightens around him as if hearing his thoughts. "Of course I do. To be there for you and him. He's an amazing kid."

"He loves you, I know he does, but—"

"It's a big change. I know. I get it."

Eric licks his lips. "Maybe… Maybe we should take things slowly." Jack lifts his head, frowning, and Eric laughs. "I don't mean that," he says, indicating their naked, tangled bodies with a wave of his hand. "I mean… Oh, I don't know. I don't want him to think that I love him less, that I'm paying less attention or anything like that, right?"

He doesn't even know how to break the news to him, but that's a problem for tomorrow-Eric.

"Of course not. Though I doubt he will, he's a clever kid."

"He's an emotional kid," Eric says before he remembers himself: he doesn't want to freak Jack out. "I'm not doubting this, I do want you to be around. And lord knows Elli adores you, but…"

Jack nods. "You have your life with him. We'll go at your rhythm, okay? We'll take the time he needs. It's a big adjustment, I don't mind."

He wiggles a bit, turning to face Jack. "You sure?"

"Of course. All things worthwhile take time."

Eric stares at him. Is he understanding this right? Is Jack saying what Eric thinks he's saying? "What do you want, Jack?"

With a slight smile, Jack rolls on his side. His eyes are so pale in the darkness of the room.

"I want you," he says, in a fierce whisper, "I want to be involved. We can take it slow, but— I want to be there for you and Elli. Help you out when you need it. I'll have to leave for the playoffs, but when I'm home I can take him to school. Cook. Stuff like that. And… I want to date you. Go places with you and Elli. Take you out at night when he's sleeping. If… If that's something you want, too?"

Eric giggles. Lord, Jack's not going to learn much dating Eric other than the value of sweet, sweet sleep. But a boy can dream. "Are you saying you're going to woo me?"

"Mmmh, yeah?"

"Well, I hope you're ready to put on your best game, I ain't that easy."

Jack quirks an eyebrow at him. "I'm literally in your bed right now. You kind of threw yourself at me back there."

He looks ridiculously pleased with that.

Eric bats a hand at him, playfully. "Careful, Mr Zimmermann, or you won't stay in that bed of mine for long. I have a couch."

"I broke your couch."

"Oh, lord, forgot about that."

That's a thing he didn't need.

"I'll get you a new one," Jack says.

Eric rolls his eyes. "You don't have to. Both of us were involved in the… couch breaking."

"Ha, technically, I was the one doing most of the dangerous couch action. Hence why I'm offering."

He snorts. "Dangerous couch action?"

"One might even say not safe for work."

"Oh, no," Eric wheezes, "you're the worst."

Jack finds his lips, and damned be whatever they were talking about.

"I want that too, by the way," he whispers to Jack when he gets his breathing back under control. "What about everyone else, though?"

Because that's a thing to consider, whether they want it or not.

Jack sighs. "I don't want to hide," he says, convinced. "I'm out, so there's no reason to, but… People will be curious. It'll get intense."

Paparazzi know no bounds, not even when there's a child involved, Eric remembers it too well. Perhaps the novelty will have died down a bit, though, since Jack isn't the first out NHLer in a queer relationship, not after Parson and Mashkov. But then, Jack's always had that extra spotlight on him. Whatever they do, they will be under scrutiny, Elli included, but Eric's got good faith they'll get through it together.

"I want to show you off," Jack says, tightening his arm around Eric. "I really do. Eventually. But I'd also like to enjoy the quiet while we have it?"

"Agreed. Casual, then? Let's do our own thing and let them catch up?"

Like all mildly-famous heterosexual couples slowly coming together under the public eye. It's a good idea: they won't have the pressure to release some kind of statement as their relationship is just beginning to happen, and a casual reveal might contribute to people understanding that they're in a relationship like any other, gay or not. Unless their little secret gets discovered in 1.2 seconds, which wouldn't be surprising in today's world.

Eric's fine being more private for now — there are friends and family to talk to first, and they _are_ supposed to take things slow for Elli's sake. Though he knows that, unlike a certain someone, he'll eventually want to pepper his Instagram with Jack as he did with Elli. He did bag himself the best-looking player in the NHL, he should be allowed to brag about it a bit, thank you very much.

"I like the sound of that," Jack says.

Eric grins. "Good."

The second round is nothing like the first: gentle, slow, exploratory touches here and there. Eric takes his time, rediscovering the body he once knew well, taking into account the small changes that happened over time. There are a few scars here and there, quite a bit more body hair, and a few other details Jack seems to be displeased about until Eric kisses them one by one to show him how he still is the most gorgeous man on this Earth. The phrase "fine wine" might even have been pronounced.

Then it's Eric's turn, a gasping mess against his pillow, learning all over again how it is to let go of himself in another man's arms, to be taken care of again after all this time. It's so good when he comes, tingles running down his feet, and he feels like he could sleep for the next hundred years.

He tells Jack so, after they're done, as Jack gently takes the time to clean him once more.

"Good. You deserve it."

"You forget the little devil that's going to wake me up at six."

Jack's lips find their way against his forehead. "I'll take care of that."

He lifts his head. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Jack smiles. "I'll make him breakfast and all, you get some sleep."

"Lord, be careful what you wish for, or I'll like it too much and keep you for good."

Jack's chuckle is the last thing he hears before falling asleep, and it sounds just like he wouldn't mind too much.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s 6:00 on the clock and a pair of small feet are running down the hallway. It's the same soundtrack as every morning, and Eric grumbles against his pillow before the inevitable small bomb crashes in his bed.

But this morning isn't like all mornings, because when he turns on his back and stretches, the back of his wrist slaps a vast expanse of skin. The slow turn of the doorknob isn't followed by the creaky opening of the door but rather sticks with a click against the lock.

Eric frowns.

"Daddy?"

A press of lips against his brow, followed by the words, "Sleep. I'll get him."

Memory floods back in and he can't fight the smile growing on his face.

"Thank you, honey," he mumbles, before smashing his face back against the pillow, where it belongs.

This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

Okay, maybe second best after Elli's birth, the day he officially adopted him, and all that, but still.

He hears Jack shuffling back in his jeans (thank the lord he had the presence of mind to gather their clothes yesterday) before Jack steps out of the room.

"Hey, buddy. Did you sleep well?"

"Jack! Yeah! Thank you! Did you have a nice sleepover with Daddy?"

"Ha, yes, we did. He's going to sleep for a bit more, though."

"Okay-dokay. D'you know how to make cereals?"

"I'm sure we'll manage if you show me where it is."

Eric steps out of the bathroom half an hour later. He hasn't really slept, but just lying in bed for a few more minutes felt great.

"Daddyyyy!" Elli squeals at the sight of him, abandoning his cereal to come and squeeze Eric's legs.

He picks him up and blows a raspberry on his round cheek, making Elli laugh.

"I'm sorry we woke you up last night, sweetheart," he says. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah!" Elli nods vigorously. "And the couch is really really broken and Jack says that if you say it's okay then we can do a fort with it and play since there is no school today on the account that it's Sunday!"

Eric laughs and throws a look at the couch: ugh, it really looks unsalvageable.

"We'll see, sweetie. Breakfast first, then you have ballet, remember?"

"Oh, okay."

He lets Elli back down on the stool and accepts the cup of coffee Jack seems to have produced from thin air. He's wearing his clothes from yesterday but still looks gorgeous in the morning light, with his messy hair, five o'clock shadow, and a glimmer in his eyes Eric is sure he has in his own.

They share a private smile, for a moment — too bad he didn't actually take a moment to kiss Jack a proper hello this morning — before Eric's attention is brought back to Elli's summary of the very serious conversation Jack and he were having about different types of Pokémons.

Humming at all the proper moments to encourage Elli's tale about ghost (?) Pokémons, Eric turns towards the fridge. He's got dinner figured out, but he didn't take Jack into account when he had planned for lunch and doesn't have enough leftovers for the three of them. He should probably make something from scratch. Waffles? That's an idea — he's meant to try that raspberry coulis he's working on for the book.

"That's fascinating, sweetie," he tells Elli, before he shoots Jack a look, a hand on the fridge's door. "Are you staying for lunch?"

"If that's not a bother," Jack says, and Eric rolls his eyes, fondly.

Seriously, that boy. It's not like Eric is going to send him back to his… protein shakes, and… chicken tenders.

"Park!" Elli squeals. "Can we go to the park today I wanna show Jack Msser Duck like in the story with the lighthouse except that Msser Duck isn't yellow he's brown. Can we?"

"I'm free all afternoon, I can go see Mr Duck with you," Jack says, nodding along. "I have to leave around four for the game tonight, though."

"Oooh." Elli bounces up and down on the stool. "Can I go?"

"Not tonight," Eric says. "You have school tomorrow."

Elli spreads his arms on the island and props his chin between them. "But Daddy! I wanna go! There's a hockey man called Msser Tater and he's big and silly."

Lord, someone's chatty this morning.

Jack huffs a laugh, but Eric crosses his arms over his chest. "You're not going tonight, Elli. We can watch the first period on TV and catch up tomorrow if you want."

It doesn't seem to distract Elli too much, who keeps going, not minding him at all. " _And_ there's Msser Lucky who is very tall and has a robot leg because a doctor fixed it and he let me have half a candy if he could have the other half and if I would not tell but Jack said it's probably okay anyway."

Jack's low chuckle dies out quickly as Eric throws him a look. _Candy? At eight in the evening? Seriously?_

Jack makes a face that Eric translates as _Sorry_ , and he _better be_. Lord, it's hard enough to get Elli to sleep on a normal day, let alone after a hockey game. But to give him candy on top of that? No wonders the boy adores Jack's teammates.

"I thought that was our secret," Jack says to Elli, faking betrayal.

"Elli is not very good at secrets," Eric says and winks at Elli.

"Daddy!" Elli gasps. "It's 'cos I love you so I can't keep secrets!"

That child is never, ever going to get in trouble.

Eric crosses over to the other side of the island and drops a kiss on the top of Elli's head. "Go get ready for ballet, mister. Maya's mom will be here in a few."

Elli nods, pushes his empty bowl of cereal further on the island, carefully gets off the stool, and rockets towards his room.

Eyes on Elli's back as he runs down the corridor, Jack chuckles, and mindlessly slides an arm around Eric's waist, bringing him closer.

"Morning," Eric says, to which Jack replies with a kiss. It's a bit awkward since he can't stop smiling. This is ridiculous.

He hums into the kiss and throws an arm around Jack's shoulder, coming up between his thighs, and for a moment, Jack nuzzles against his cheek.

"Hmm, sorry about the candy," he says, eventually.

"It's fine," Eric chuckles. "Just not past seven-thirty, for future reference."

The moment Jack's lips find his again comes a crashing sound from Elli's bedroom.

"Daddy, help!"

Oh, God. "That boy has the worst timing," he laughs.

Jack smiles against his cheek. "I don't mind."

"I'd better go."

"Yeah," Jack says, his hold on Eric strong.

" _Jack_."

He lets go of him, but only after one last kiss. Compromise.

Fifteen minutes later, Elli's leaving for ballet with Maya and her mom, Elisa. It's her turn to take them to class and then bring them back since Eric did it last week. He doesn't miss the way she stares at a very rumpled-looking Jack for a moment, eyes wide, before shooting a meaningful look at Eric, who can only chuckle and bid her goodbye for now. That's the face of someone who wants deets.

There's a moment of silence after the door closes, before Jack asks, "How much time does that give us?"

Eric walks over back to him and slides his hands on Jack's hips, under his teeshirt. "An hour and fifteen, if we're lucky."

"Well, we're about to be," Jack says, and leans in, but Eric jerks his chin back at the last second, chuckling.

"I am _not_ acknowledging that with a kiss, mister."

Jack pouts, exaggeratedly. "Why not?"

"Because it's horrible," he chirps, as Jack slips his hands on his waist and brings them closer together. "And it's _get_ lucky."

"Eh, whatever."

This time, Eric doesn't move away when Jack reaches for him and hums against Jack's lips.

It's been so long, it's like Eric forgot how it is to make out with a man he has feelings for, but Jack reminds him of it every second he kisses Eric with intense passion and focus, as if Eric has become the center of his world, as if he can't get enough of him. It's also a bit less sloppy than it was eight years ago, but it's not like Eric is going to mention that — he didn't have any complaints back at Samwell and he certainly does not _now_. Instead, he lets Jack's kisses grow slow and dirty, and lord— if that doesn't go straight to his dick.

Jack's hands radiate warmth through Eric's tee-shirt as they blindly make their way towards the bedroom, shedding their clothes in the process.

He sits on Jack's lap, knees on either side, as they slowly grind against each other. It's good. It's very good, and Jack seems inclined to take his time as he runs exploratory hands over Eric's ass and thighs, making him shiver. Eric could come like that, but there's still so much they haven't done yet, and there's just _not enough time_.

Lord, as much as Eric would like to lie down and learn Jack's body all over again, they kind of need to speed things up, here.

"I wanna—" he whispers against Jack's mouth.

Eric's hand curls around Jack's dick. What exactly does he want?

"Hmmm?"

With a smirk, Eric reaches for a pillow that he throws to the ground, gets off Jack's lap, and pushes his thighs apart, settling on his knees. Once more, he wraps a hand around Jack's rock-hard cock.

"Fuck," Jack lets out. When he looks up, Jack is staring down at him, transfixed, his mouth half-open. " _T'es beau_."

He bites on his lower lip, hard. Lord. Naked and on his knees? He'll take it. "Yeah?"

" _Ouain_. Aah—"

Eric leans down and presses his nose against the base of Jack's dick, in the wiry, black hair. So, uh, okay— he really hopes he's not blushing right now because he's twenty-eight and it's not like he's got a complex about it but Jack smells fucking _good_. It makes him want to drop a hand between his legs, but— later. This is about Jack.

His tongue peeks out, tasking Jack there, before he licks up his shaft in a broad stroke and, looking up, presses a kiss on the head.

" _Tabarnak_ ," Jack swears softly, lips parted.

Eric's heart bounces in his chest — this is why he's missed having sex with someone he cares about. He just wants to make Jack feel good. Very good. For a very long time. Until he can't take it anymore.

Eric smirks again and teases him just a bit, sucking lightly on the tip of Jack's cock, remembering how he liked it all those years ago. There will be time for endless exploration soon, but today's not the day. Instead, he closes his mouth around the head, and— oh, God. The stretch is… something, but his slight panic doesn't last: Jack's cock is heavy and already leaking on his tongue, and it's not like he can resist curling a hand around his own erection, now. He's _dreamed_ about this.

He glances up again as he starts bobbing his head, taking more and more of that lovely, fat dick. Jack, reclining on a hand, reaches for Eric's cheek, and goes down around the nape of his neck before coming back up again, fingers tangling in his hair. He doesn't push, just rides the movement of Eric's head.

Picking up the pace, Eric wraps a hand around the base of Jack's cock, jacking him off properly in time with his mouth, his tongue. His jaw is aching now, but judging by the way Jack pants and moans, fingers deliciously tight in Eric's hair, it's no time to take a break.

"Fuck, Bits."

Lord, to know that he can reduce a 6'1" man to this with only his mouth makes him feel like a fucking god.

"Bits. I'm gonna come."

It's meant as a warning, one Eric disregards. He hums, a positive answer to Jack's silent question, and uses his free hand to gently tug on Jack's balls. Actually… He slips his fingers further back, gently rubbing at his perineum, wondering if Jack—

"Oh, fuck!" Jack shouts, his dick throbbing in Eric's mouth, as it pulses once, two, three times.

It surprises him, even though he intended to swallow, but he manages not to choke on it. He keeps on sucking lightly until Jack pushes him away, and he's barely back on his feet when Jack wraps his arm around him, bringing him down on the bed for an open-mouthed kiss.

"Oh— God—" Eric mumbles — a good number of his previous relationships weren't so much into tasting themselves, but that's evidently not a qualm for Jack.

Jack rolls on top of him, and their bodies slot together easily as Eric wraps his legs around him. How good would it feel to have Jack fuck him, something they never tried before? He'd love to reverse the roles as well if Jack's amenable. The thought makes his hips jerk as he ruts against Jack's abs. It's a bit frantic but he's too goddamn gone to care. One day, he promises himself. When they'll have more time.

"Was it—" Eric starts, but Jack shuts him up with a kiss.

"Don't even start," Jack says, transferring his lips to Eric's jaw, to _that_ spot underneath his ear that could make him go mad.

"Jack—"

"Let me—"

But Jack doesn't finish that thought, running his lips down Eric's neck, his collarbone, his belly, his hip.

Peeking down, he meets the blue of Jack's eyes as he settles between his legs. Oh, God. With a slight smirk, Jack closes his mouth to the inside of Eric's thigh, gently nibbling at the skin there, his stubble prickly.

Crunching his eyes shut, a moan slips past his lips. Goodness, he really hopes the Falcs _do_ make it to the playoffs.

Any coherent thought is shut down after that he feels Jack's breath over his cock, anticipation he can't take at the moment. But then, Jack's mouth is on him, warm and wet, and nothing else matters.

He knows he's being loud, too loud for a Sunday morning and the cardboard walls of his apartment, but— lord— it ain't called the Lord's day for no reason, amen to that.

Fuck— Jack from eight years ago was already very good at oral, but it's nothing compared to him now. Add to that eight years' worth of repressed fantasies and about five minutes of anticipation… Jack's brutal, intense, fast-paced rhythm, coupled with his evident enthusiasm, makes Eric want to call him _Captain_ just a bit. It's like Jack wants to be everywhere, do everything at once, with a clear end-goal in mind. Jack Zimmermann fucks like he skates, and Eric wouldn't want it any other way.

He fists his hand in Jack's hair and can't do anything but hang on for the ride. He's trying not to move too much — and fails to, but it doesn't seem to faze Jack, who accommodates him by taking him deeper and deeper, until Eric's dick catches on the back of his throat, again and again and again.

He really shouldn't look at this point, because things will be over embarrassingly quickly, but he can't resist the sight of Jack's lips stretching around his cock, strands of brown hair slicked with sweat between Eric's fingers, the defined muscles of his back and shoulders glistening as his hands bite down on Eric's hips.

Oh God— Oh God—

"I'm coming." He's about to. Oh, God. "I'm coming," he repeats, but Jack seems disinclined to let go of him, and pushes his head down until his nose hits Eric's _groin_ — "Jack!"

He comes, spilling down Jack's throat, so far down he probably can't even taste it.

It takes him a minute to come back down from it, and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, groaning a bit. Good lord. He hasn't come this hard in _ages_.

Jack chuckles, and Eric opens one eye, too see Jack peering at him from above, hands on either side of Eric's shoulders.

Gently, Eric brushes back the few strands of Jack's hair that have stuck to his forehead. "Honey, please don't take this the wrong way, but I think eight years apart did us some good after all."

Jack beams at him. "Agreed," he says, before leaning down, push-up style — _show off_ — to kiss him.

Seriously?

"Oh my god," Eric laughs, wrapping his arms around Jack's neck. "Never mind, I just remembered you're still a jock."

"Problem?" Jack says, smiling against his lips.

"Nope."

Their lips barely touch when Eric's phone pings, somewhere on the ground.

"Ugh, give me a sec."

He rolls away from Jack and retrieves his phone.

_Elisa: Class is done, we'll be there in fifteen._

_Elisa: Figured you might want a head's up._

_Elisa:_ 👀

"It's Elisa," he informs Jack. "We have fifteen minutes."

"Shower?"

"Shower."

*

He feels on a high for the rest of the day. He ends up making waffles, pleasing Elli to no end because the original plan had been all about green veggies, but Eric can use that for dinner when it'll be just the two of them.

He ends up whistling along to the latest Beyoncé album as he prepares the batter while Jack is browsing couches on his laptop and Elli draws his dream dessert (a mountain composed of four different pies, two cakes, and three flavors of ice cream).

"Daddy," Elli says at some point, "you have a big smile!"

Eric frowns. Has he not been smiling as much lately? Sure, he's been tired, but… Enough for Elli to notice? Lord, he hopes not.

"I'm happy sweetheart," he says, and boops Elli's nose. "Because I get to spend time with you and Jack."

His heart squeezes in his chest — he'll have to tell Elli at some point, and the more he pushes it back, the harder it will be to have that discussion. Part of him is dead set on telling Elli as soon as they'll have a moment alone, but the other part of him knows he's bound to flake at the last possible minute. Ugh, why is he like that?

Pushing the thought back, he steps behind Jack and notices the website he's on.

"I know I'm letting you buy the couch, but please choose a reasonable brand." And not some kind of designer name that will be ruined by markers, pie, and accidental puke.

They end up choosing a nice, dark brown-grey model from IKEA, because, to quote one Mr Jack Zimmermann, "How hard can it be to assemble?"

That's what Eric is mumbling, two hours later when Jack is back from the store and there's bubble wrap on every single surface of the apartment, Elli jamming at it with a screwdriver while Jack reads the instructions for the hundredth time.

"It's really simple. You just have to hold this part on that side, and someone holds that other end — we can prop it against the wall I guess — and then I screw this together…"

Note to self: never trust a man who's never been to IKEA even once in his life. It takes them another good hour before they're done, finishing up while Elli is napping.

"You did it!" Elli says when he emerges from his room as if he had high doubts that they wouldn't manage it. "Good job, Daddy. Good job, Jack."

It's not perfect, but at least they have a fully functioning couch, one that gets thoroughly tested within five seconds as Elli jumps on it and starts rolling on the cushions, Jack sitting down at the other end.

"Okay, you be careful young man," Eric warns Elli. "One broken couch per day is enough. Wait," he says, noticing the iPad vibrating on the coffee table. "That's gotta be your uncle and aunt."

They usually call on Sunday when they can't see each other during the week, which happens more and more often with Shitty working his latest case in California.

"Oh, Shitty?" Jack asks and his face falls just as he utters the word. "Shit— I mean— uh—"

"No, it's fine, we're calling them Uncle Shitty and Aunt Lardo," Eric says, answering the call.

Shitty's beaming face appears on the screen. "Bits! Elli!"

"Uncle Shitty!" Elli squeals, taking the tablet right from Eric's hands and settling down with it on the couch.

"My man," Shitty says, "that's a mad tee-shirt you've got!"

"Thank you, Uncle Shitty, it's a bird on a croc's head!"

Smiling, Eric sits down and props himself against Jack, who wraps a hand around his waist. Elli's full attention is on Shitty, not minding them at all.

"Sw'awesome. Tell me, Elli," Shitty says, raising a mug to his lips. "Where are you sitting right now? I don't recall that couch at your dad's place?"

"It's a new couch! We got it today and we 'sembled it together because yesterday night Daddy and Jack were playing when I was sleeping and they _broke_ the old couch."

Shitty spits out what looks to be half of the contents of his mug over his desk, and Elli makes a triumphant sound: someone is finally understanding the dramatics of his situation and precious lost minutes of sleep.

" _Oh my god, Elli_ ," Eric mutters because that is _embarrassing_.

Why are kids so prone to oversharing?

He reaches for the tablet, but Elli pulls it closer to his body. "No, Daddy, lemme!"

Eric groans but leaves Elli to it, as Jack — who's been chuckling for the past half-minute — brings him back against him and subtly presses his lips to the side of his head.

"This okay? Shitty and Lardo?" Jack whispers, and Eric nods — of course he's fine with them knowing. Just… not like _that_.

"LARDS," he hears Shitty shout. "LARDS, COME OVER HERE." He turns to face back the camera, and Elli. "Your dad and Jack _broke the couch_?"

"Yeah!" Elli nods. "They woke me up!"

Oh my god, can they drop the subject already?

"Oh, that's no fun, bud," Shitty empathizes for half-a-second, and whatever else he says is lost in translation because Eric picks the tablet up from Elli's hands.

"That's enough," he says.

"Daddy, you're like a tomato," Elli says, laughing, and yeah, Eric can definitely see that he's right from the way his face is displayed on the screen. Ugh.

Shitty wiggles his eyebrows at him, and behind him, Lardo enters the room, her belly bigger than ever.

"What's up?" she asks Shitty.

"Apparently, Bitty and Jack were playing together yesterday night and they _broke the couch_."

Lardo's eyes widen momentarily, before they narrow again, as she stares back at Eric. "Bro, seriously? Is Jack here?"

"Uh…" He tilts the tablet until it shows Jack sitting beside him. "Yeah."

"Hey," Jack says, tone careful, but it's clear that he's fighting a bigger smile.

In contrast, Shitty and Lardo are grinning so much it looks like they've won the goddamn lottery.

"Bro," Shitty says, eyes on Jack, as if he can't quite believe it. " _Bro_."

Jack chuckles, a bit nervously, and goes to rub the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah."

"Bitty," Lardo says, a lot more business. "Call the _second_ you have a moment. Like, seriously. We need the deets."

He laughs. "I promise."

Jack gives him a slightly scared look. Well, maybe not _all_ the deets.

"But seriously, so you're like, doing this?" Shitty asks. "You're—" He stops, and Eric's eyes settle on the small square at the bottom of the screen, which shows Jack waving his hand in front of his throat in the _kill-it_ motion. Elli's still beside them, rolling around, getting acquainted with the couch. "I mean… Have you two been… breaking couches for a while now?"

"Nah, that was the first one!" Elli intervenes.

Oh, bless his heart, but Eric's about to combust and leave this life for good.

Shitty quirks an eyebrow. "And are you intending to continue… breaking couches?"

"Daddy, no! I like this one!"

Everyone laughs, and Elli looks up at Eric, beaming as if he's made the best joke in the world. Eric, smiling back at him, ruffles his hair.

"Hopefully, no more couches will be broken," Jack says. "We'll make sure of that," he adds, a bit more seriously.

Eric can see Shitty's eyes glistening even through the screen, and Lardo's smile is unparalleled.

"I'll call y'all later," Eric promises. "But now I think Elli wants to talk with you two."

"For sure, for sure, bro. Jack, gimme a call, too, when you two will be over the… breaking couches phase."

"Will do."

Elli stares at them as if they're slowly going mad.

"All right," Eric chuckles, "handing you over to Elli now."

*

It's been one hell of a day, Eric reflects, as he's fetching the vitamins from the kitchen. No same color, no same animal, no carnivorous/herbivorous duo, he remembers, inspecting the small animals in the palm of his hand.

After the call with Shitty and Lardo, they went to the park together. It's still fairly cold for this time of year outside — unless a man is Jack Zimmermann — so Eric huddled close to him until Jack took his hand in his own and linked their fingers together.

It had surprised Eric a bit, but he reminded himself that they weren't hiding. In some sort of small miracle, no one seemed to recognize Jack, no phone cameras were pointed at them. The internet wouldn't find out about them the second it happened, but Eric is sure it won't last if they continue down that road. One day or another, people will notice.

It's fine, he remembers. It'll be fine.

Elli, running in front, had thrown them a look over his shoulder and didn't say anything but that Daddy was "slow" and that "they were going to miss Msser Duck", despite the fact that Mr Duck lives at the pond 365 days per year.

"Jack, you speak French," Elli had said, staring at Mr Duck.

"I do."

"What's he in French?" Elli asked, pointing at the duck.

" _Canard._ "

"Can-ard."

"Yeah! Good job."

Elli took the compliment as a signal to ask Jack to translate every single object in existence, and Jack humored him, a smile on his lips. Even Eric learned a thing or two, there, until they let Elli do his thing on the playground and watched him from one of the benches, bundled up in their winter coats.

It felt comfortable. Easy. Day one of something new, maybe, but reassuring, in a way.

It's going to work. If they want it, it's going to work

Jack left around four for his game tonight — not before kissing Eric goodbye at the door — and Elli and he spent a quiet night in: they read a book together, played farm, and watched a rerun of Zoboomafoo.

"A zebra and an antelope, that's okay?" he asks, handing Elli the vitamins as he sits upon the bed.

"Yes, thank you Daddy."

Eric hands him the glass of water, which Elli seizes with both hands and gulps it down.

"Did you have fun today, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, Msser Duck was very fun. Do you think he was very cold outside alone?"

It's a question that keeps coming back, and it might be a ploy for Eric to agree to adopt a duck, which is _not_ happening.

"I'm sure he was fine, Elli. He's a duck, he's made to stay outside all year long."

"Okay. Daddy?"

"Yes?"

Elli squirms a bit, like when he's unsure how to word a question. "Are you and Jack boyfriends?"

Eric's heart bounces in his chest. Were they that obvious? Would Elli feel betrayed that he hasn't told him as soon as he could? No — come on, he's the adult here, he gets to decide when to inform his son about his private life.

"What makes you think that?" he asks, as he climbs on Elli's bed, sitting sideways, his legs folded under him.

"It's 'cos you were holding hands at the park and Tommy at school said boyfriends and girlfriends only hold hands except I guess boyfriends and boyfriends and girlfriends and girlfriends too, but then I hold Maya's hand sometimes and we're just friends because we divorced."

Eric chuckles. "You're a clever boy. It _is_ fine to hold your friend's hand if they want to." He steels himself. It's now or never. "But yes, Jack and I are boyfriends, now." They did not technically discuss specific terms, but it's simpler for Elli to understand that way. "Are you okay with that, baby? I know you like him a lot."

"Daddy!" Elli says, bouncing a bit on the bed, nodding emphatically. "It's like we planned. He's your friend and my friend and then you baked him somethin' and now he's your boyfriend!"

Eric laughs — lord, that's a weight off his shoulders. "That's right," he says. More or less, since Elli makes it sound as if they had come up with a strategic ploy to snag a multi-millionaire NHL star with the help of a muffin. Oh God, now that he thinks about it…

"Do you love 'im?" Elli asks, his voice small.

Eric slides down on the bed, to lie face to face with him. "I do. I love him very much. And I love _you_ more than anything in the world, Elli, and me having a boyfriend is not going to change that, all right?"

"Okay. I love you too, Daddy," Elli nods, gravely. Then: "Are you gonna marry him?"

"Oh my god, Elli. People marry each other only after they've been together for a while."

The thought makes him slightly dizzy. It's been _a day_. Calm down.

"But you said you love him!"

"Yes," he says, "but we gotta be boyfriends first before that, so we know that we're good together, right? Or else it might be like you and Maya, getting a divorce real soon."

Elli nods again, a slight frown on his face, as if he hasn't considered that aspect of being in a relationship versus being married before.

"Okay, I understand," he says, through a yawn.

"Clever boy. Now let's go to sleep, okay?"

"Can you stay until I sleep?"

He doesn't do this every night, but it's fair enough for now.

"Of course, baby." He stretches to switch the nightstand lamp off and rolls on the bed to get an arm around Elli.

"Daddy…?" Elli asks, after a minute or two.

"Hmmm, yes?"

"You and Jack kissed?"

Lord. His child is four and asking for deets. "We did."

"On the mouth?!"

He chuckles. "Yes."

Elli hums. "That's okay because you love him and he loves you." Well, thank goodness he has Elli's approval, Eric thinks, with fond irony. "But it's gross."

And the jury has reached a verdict.

*

"Bro, so, who knows?" Lardo asks as she plows through a third piece of blueberry pie.

They're sitting at the island, under the dimmed kitchen lights. Elli's gone to bed now, and for the past half-hour, Lardo has been grilling him for deets.

It's not like much has happened — Jack had another game on Sunday, they spent Monday together (Eric did _some_ work), and Jack's left on Tuesday for one last roadie before the playoffs. He came back only this morning and has been at practice and meetings since, even though he still can't skate.

It hadn't been easy to let go of Jack this soon, but then, Eric found himself too busy with his everyday routine to think much about it. They called each other every day, though — Jack hasn't missed a single good night call to tell Elli a bit more of his story — and they're planning to go out together this weekend.

"Uh, well, you two, and Elli, of course, and… Elisa?"

Lardo winces a bit and gives him a look. "What about your folks?"

He sighs. It's not like his parents are going to react negatively to the news — God knows his mama has been planning their wedding since Eric told her he renewed his friendship with Jack — but that kind of conversation has never been easy for Eric. He spent so much time in the closet that at this point it just feels weird confiding in his parents about his relationships, and to add onto that, he knows his mama is going to gloat about how she knew all along that he and Jack were destined to be together when the reality is a lot more nuanced than that. He's happy. And he'll be happy to tell them, once he'll feel confident enough to have that discussion. He's not _avoiding_ them, unlike Lardo seems to think. But there's nothing wrong with… delaying things a bit.

"You don't exactly want them to find out from the Internet," Lardo points out.

And that's the voice of reason right there.

"I'll call them this weekend," he says. " _I will_ ," he adds, seeing Lardo's dubious expression.

Pie eaten, they move towards the new couch, glass of wine in hand, peach juice for Lardo. He sits down and wraps an arm around her shoulders as she leans against him. She's huge, now, and Eric doesn't even understand how she manages to do anything, but Lardo would rather die than stop her busy train of life, he knows.

"I do like this couch better," she says. "The brown on that other one was horrid."

"Ugh, I know. Good riddance."

"So…" Lardo starts. "Was it good, then?"

"Oh my god _,_ " he laughs, " _very good_." He can give her that, at least. "It's… new, and that's fun, but it also feels like we've been doing this forever, you know?"

"Yeah," she snorts. "That's kind of what we were trying to tell you two."

"I know, I know." He sighs. "Thinking about it, we should have talked sooner. But I figured Jack had moved on."

"Bits, Jack's been gone on you since day one."

"Right," he laughs. "Even when he was shouting at me to get my act together on the ice?"

"Bro, chyeah. That was a hundred-percent confused Jack. He got the feeling you were something special and he didn't know how to deal with that. You know how he is with that kind of stuff."

"Huh." He hadn't seen it that way, but it makes sense, he guesses.

They lapse into silence as he reaches for his glass, and takes a sip.

"I'm just… so fucking _happy_ , Lardo."

She twists to look at him, a grin on her face. "Good. You deserve it."

He hums and leans his head against the couch, a smile growing on his face. "Goodness. He's amazing with Elli, and Elli loves him. It's easy. It's… It's how I imagined my family to be. Not that we're anywhere near that yet, but…"

"Look at you," she says, and punches his shoulder, lightly. "Living the dream."

He grins back at her. " _I know_." He sighs, happily. "And bonus points for getting laid again on the regular…"

Lardo laughs and picks up her glass. "To getting you laid again, on the regular."

They clink their glasses together, and she settles back against him.

"Lucky you," she continues. "I'm alternating between being horny as fuck and wanting to murder Shitty for breathing too close to me. And guess which one I am the moment he's out of town."

"Aw, Lards."

"I really hope I'll still be in the mood when he comes back because shit, it's been two weeks, now."

Shitty's been away, in California, concluding his last case before taking paternity leave, since the baby is supposed to be there next month. That's not what surprises Eric, though.

"Seriously? Even at… this stage?"

"Chyeah. We make it work. Anything's possible with the right strap-on, you know?"

He nearly spits out half of his drink at that, making Lardo laugh.

"You wish I were kidding," she says, "but I'm not."

He shakes his head and laughs. "Get it, girl."

He's half tempted to say that it's too much info about Shitty Knight's ass and what use he makes of it, while the other half kinda wants the deets on that. Good for Shitty, to be honest, Eric never understood het men's hang-ups about their prostate.

"I'm _not_ ," Lardo says, "that's the problem. I'll be throwing myself at him the moment he steps through that door, I swear."

He snorts.

"Oh, please," she laughs. "As if I'm not talking to the man whose sex life broke a couch."

"Oh my lord, what is it with y'all and that damned couch? Let it rest in peace."

"More like, in pieces."

He groans, but she drops the subject, reaching for her glass instead. "So, you told Elli, then?"

"Yeah. I mean, he guessed it himself, and then he asked point-blank and I told him. Thank God it went well. Jack was so relieved when I told him."

(He looked like he'd been stuck in a block of ice, frozen in time, when Eric recounted that conversation with Elli until Eric told him everything went well and Elli approved. "Okay, okay. I'm glad," Jack had said, rubbing his hands over his face, tension melting from his shoulders.)

"Told ya," Lardo says. "Jack Zimmermann? Dad material. Buzzfeed-approved, at that."

He laughs, remembering that article. Well, well, how things change.

"He even asked me if we'd kissed," he says, tone saucy.

Lardo gasps, faking shock. "What did you say?"

"Well, I told him that we did. And he said it was gross."

"Wasn't he married?" she chuckles.

"Nah, they divorced."

"That kid's gonna go far in life."

"Can only hope so," he says. But enough about him. "How's the baby?"

"Too big," Lardo sighs. "Seriously, I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Knock on wood," he jokes.

"Nah, I mean it. Baby's kicking all the time. My feet are impossibly swollen. I'm horny and miserable. End me. End this. I need to pee all the freaking time. See? I need to go, right now," she announces, pushing herself off the couch.

It takes them a good five seconds to realize, even after having heard the squishy sound Lardo makes as she gets up from the couch. It's a small version of Niagara falls as she stands up, and even then, it takes a moment for Eric's mind to whirl back on.

"Oh, shit," Lardo breathes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the anecdote: I'm a dance teacher (when we're not in a pandemic), and a few years back I was teaching a 3-4 y.o. ballet class (14 kids, 8:30 in the morning, on Saturday, RIP me), and some of the funny things those kids have said to me found a way in this fic. It's why Jack and Bitty had to break the couch, because one morning, one of the little girls showed up a few minutes early so we chatted while her mom was watching from the doorway.  
> "Today we're going shopping for a new couch because mommy and daddy were playing and broke our couch!"  
> "Oh, when you were all playing together this morning?"  
> "No, when mommy and daddy were playing alone yesterday night!"  
> I have never seen someone get more red in the face than her mom was, standing there, listening to us, hahahaha. So yeah, if you have kids... their teachers Know Stuff. :P
> 
> Also Jack totally tells Tater that Elli calls him "Mr Tater" and describes him as "big and silly" and Tater is Delighted. (It's also the moment he decides he's going to be an uncle to Elli because now he has to.)


	11. Chapter 11

" _Oh my god_."

"Bitty."

"Oh my god!"

He can see the panic slowly settling in her eyes and realizes he isn't helping. He jumps on his feet and places his hands on either side of Lardo's face.

"Don't panic," he says.

"Bitty," Lardo repeats, an edge in her voice, now.

"Stop panicking, _now_."

"I'm due in a month," she says. "I'm due in a month! It's way too early— Shits' in California— fuck no."

"Lardo."

"Fuck, no! How am I— How am I—"

"Lardo!"

"I can't— I just can't—"

" _I suck Jack's dick like a cheap slut!_ "

His words have the desired effect of a slap on the face, and he sees the precise moment when Lardo's eyes focus back on him again. "I— what the fuck?" she asks, frowning.

Eric squeezes her face with his hands, deliberately. "Do. Not. Panic." He breathes in, out. They're doing this. "I am driving you to the hospital, right now. Do you have a plan?"

"Everything's at home. Baby carrier and all."

She stops, for a second, and places a hand over her belly.

"Contraction?" Eric asks, and she nods, expression tight. "Your doctor?"

"At the RIH," Lardo grits out.

"You have her number, right?"

"In my phone."

"Good." They can work it all out in the car, but right now, they need to go. "Let's— oh shit, _Elli_ ," he realizes.

They can't exactly leave him on his own, nor take him with them. It's past eleven, there is no way his babysitter is up at this time of night.

Maybe he could wake up Mrs Chadha, their neighbor, since it's an emergency, or there's always—

"Jack."

"What about him? Apart from his dick?" Lardo chirps.

He smiles — as long as she's chirping, it's good. They really need to stave off another panic attack, here. He picks his phone out of his pocket and composes Jack's number.

Jack picks up on the third ring.

"Bittle? Everything okay?" he asks, voice scratchy.

"Oh, honey, sorry for waking you up. I'm with Lardo right now and her water just broke—"

"I— what? Is she okay?"

"She is, but I need to drive her to the hospital. Could you come over and watch over Elli for the night?"

He hears sheets ruffling on Jack's side. "Be there in ten."

"Thank you," Eric whispers. "Love you."

Lardo glances at him, her expression soft at first before she seizes his arm and twists. "Aaaa—"

"Love you, too," Jack says, at the other end of the line.

"—aaaah!"

"Ow, Lardo!"

" _Ten minutes_ ," Jack stresses.

Eric hangs up, throws his phone on the coffee table, and maneuvers Lardo back down on the couch, freeing his arm in the process.

"No, I'm gonna ruin your couch—" she says, panting.

"Fuck my couch, okay?" He reaches for his phone again — lord, he's all over the place — and composes Shitty's number. "You remember how they taught you to breathe through contractions?" he asks her.

Lardo nods. Sweat is gathering on her forehead, as she starts the breathing cycle through clenched teeth, from another contraction. Lord. They seem already so close in time. Is that normal, at this point?

His phone keeps on ringing and Shitty isn't picking up.

"Why isn't he picking up?" Lardo groans.

"I don't know, Lards, I don't know. He's probably in court, he ain't gonna have his phone on him. What about your parents?"

"On a cruise," she grits out. "Because of fucking course."

Oh, lord, that's right. He knows better than to ask her about Shitty's parents, and Lardo takes his silence for what it is.

"Say something," she says, tears welling in her eyes.

"Say what?" he asks.

"Something, I don't know, fuck, anything— Bitty!"

She squeezes his hand, hard, her breathing getting unsteady again. He yelps — Lardo is _strong_.

"Okay. Okay," he says. "Look at me. _Look at me_ : I've done this before."

Of all things he could say, that seems to be the right one. She exhales, slowly. "You have."

"I have. I really, really have. We're gonna do this together, okay?"

She nods, and the tears that had been filling her eyes recede just a bit. And then, a knock: _Jack_.

The moment Eric opens the door, Jack beelines for Lardo and kneels in front of her, both hands on her shoulders. "You okay, Lards?" he asks.

"I don't— I don't know."

"You're going to do this," Jack says, captain face on. Eric kind of wants to kiss him, right now. "You're going to do this because you're the strongest person I know, and I work with people whose definition of fun is losing teeth."

"Ohhh, you're in the NHL? You've never said," Lardo chirps, through a wet snort.

"Ah," Jack smiles. "That's the Lardo I know."

Even with her huge belly, Jack manages to wrap her in a tight hug.

Eric drops a hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezes. "We should go, now."

"Right," Jack says, and looks back at him. "Do you want me to go so that you can stay with Elli?"

"No offense, Jack," Lardo says, "but I'd rather have Bitty. Experience and all."

"Been there, done that," Eric chuckles, and Jack nods, grave.

"For sure. Go, then. I'll take care of Elli."

They steer Lardo towards the hall, and Eric is about to close the door behind him when Jack calls his name.

"Bitty, your phone," he says, handing it to him.

"Goodness, thank you. I'll call you, okay?"

Jack leans down, to leave a peck on his lips. "Go. We'll be fine. We'll see you soon."

They take Lardo's car, Eric behind the wheel as Lardo tries to reach Shitty, tapping at the center screen of the car with more and more desperate vigor.

"I am going to fucking murder him," she grits out when he doesn't answer the third time. "He's fucking lucky to be making a child's life less miserable because if it were anything else I would fucking murder him, do you hear me—"

Her words strangle as she gets another contraction and Eric reaches for her hand. She squeezes back, hard, her breathing getting unsteady again.

"Breathe," he reminds her.

" _Oh_ ," she sneers, her fingers biting down on his hand. Ouch. Seriously? He's trying to _drive_ here. "Say that again and you are next on my list."

He bites on his lower lip. For all of Lardo's bravado, Eric knows she's scared to death. "It's okay, Lards," he says, "you're gonna be just fine. We're getting to the hospital soon and we've called your doctor, everything's gonna be in place for you and the baby, you'll see. They'll put you on so many drugs you ain't gonna feel a thing if you don't want to, and Shitty's gonna pull his head outta his ass and take the first flight home." He makes a stop at the red light, his knuckles white on the wheel. The hospital is less than a few miles away, but all those goddamn red lights— "He can be here in like, five hours, top. Baby ain't gonna here in five, Lards."

She shoots him a glare, and— oops, he's been rambling, and that's probably not helping her case. Lardo doesn't chirp him, though, only lets her head against the headrest and sniffs.

"I don't know if I can do this," she says, voice small. "Without Shitty and— I'm four weeks early, Bits. What if something goes wrong?"

The red light makes the two wet tracks glisten on her cheeks, and Eric's throat tightens. He can't lose it, or else they'll be in trouble.

He swipes a tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb and leans over to press his forehead against hers. He has no clue what he's supposed to say to her, but somehow, the words manage to flow out.

"Elli was eight weeks early, Lards. Eight weeks. And look at him now. He's fine. He's fine and healthy and happy, and your baby is going to be just that."

How can he not remember how terrifying it was, to see Elli being taken away, to see him hooked on oxygen and so many different tubes Eric had no idea what any of them were for? How can he talk about it as if he hasn't gone through hell and back, sick with fear and desperation and raw, raw love? It’s always a bet one might lose, but you have to take the chance. (Hockey. Samwell. France. Elli. Jack.) The most important things have always been the most terrifying; anything that valuable is worth the fear. 

"Lord, he's a bit wonky on his legs sometimes but he's fine," he says, and okay, he's crying, now.

It's the thing with premature babies — even though Elli's been mostly fine since birth, there are so many things that might show only later: vision or hearing problems, gastro-intestinal troubles, not even mentioning ADHD, anxiety, depression. It's a list Eric has gone over and over again, but he won't be able to ever stop worrying as a parent. It's part of the job.

"But you're there no matter what, right? No matter how small, the good and the bad, you make do. You love them, through the rough times, and the happy times. And being there when Elli was born, Lards… That's the best thing that ever happened to me." He squeezes her hand and smiles. "I'm gonna be there with you. You're not alone. And you're going to meet your baby real soon."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! You're gonna be holding your baby in a few hours!"

She laughs, wetly. "It's Jaime. Jaime Scout."

He swaps the corner of his sleeve under his nose. Oh, god. He's about to be an uncle. "Baby Jaime Scout. I love it."

"Shitty and his obsession with Harper Lee, I swear."

"Please, that's an improvement coming from a man named B—"

The car behind honks at them, just as Eric notices the light turning green. He gets his hands back on the wheel, but that _asshole_ cuts him from the left.

Eric pushes down on the gas pedal and honks back. "I have a woman giving birth in this car, you asshole!" he shouts. "Didn't your mama teach you any manners?"

He hasn't bothered with the window, but if anything, it makes Lardo laugh.

*

There's constant ringing in his ears as he lets his forehead rest against the cool, white wall. Eric recognizes the voices on the other side of the door, waiting to be allowed in, but he needs a moment first. A really, really long moment to be alone. The last time he felt this happy and this exhausted at the same time was when Elli was born.

He breathes in, and out, and listens.

"Hmmm, Jaaack?" Elli asks, sounding hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sad."

"What's going on, buddy?"

"I'm sad, because, well, you know, Uncle Shitty and Aunt Lardo? Now they're gonna be Daddy Shitty and Mama Lardo and that's sad because I like them being my uncle and aunt."

"Oh, no, Elli, Shitty, and Lardo are going to be a dad and a mom, but they still are your uncle and aunt."

"No. _Really?_ "

"Yeah! They're dad and mom to your cousin, but they're still your uncle and aunt because you're their nephew. That's not going to change."

"Forever?"

"Forever. I promise."

"Huh, okay."

A pause. Eric smiles.

"Jaaaack?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have a sister or a brother?"

"No, I don't."

"Hmmmm. Would you say, as someone who ain't have a brother or a sister, do you like it more than maybe having a brother or a sister?"

"Ha, that's a good question. I'm not sure. Siblings can be great, but you still can have loads of fun if you don't have any."

"Hmmmmmm. Okaaay."

Another pause.

"Jaaaaack?"

"Yeah?"

"How did Aunt Lardo get a baby in her belly?"

"I— uh. Ha. It's— uh."

Okay, time to intervene.

Eric pushes the door with his good hand and steps into the hallway, momentarily blinded by the strong lights there. Jack springs up, a hand already on Eric's elbow, and Elli pushes himself off the plastic chair where he’s been sitting. He's holding onto a big, fluffy white bunny wearing a dress, a similar — but brown — one in Jack's hand.

"Bits?" Jack asks, clear concern written on his face.

Yeah, well, not surprising, considering he probably looks like hell. He should do something before they get worried, and somehow, manages to crack a smile. "Baby's here. Little Jaime."

Jack's hands fly up in the air, before landing back on his head, teddy in tow. "Yes!"

"Nearly 6.8 pounds, even though she's 37 weeks. That's good. Really good," he adds, with a happy sigh as he sees on Jack's face that Jaime's weight is entirely lost on him.

"That's wonderful!"

Eric looks up at him, his legs feeling wonky. " _Jack._ "

And Jack, amazing Jack, bless him, understands, and opens his arms wide. "C'mere."

Eric falls against him like a plank, before Jack wraps him in a tight hug, pressing his lips to Eric's head. Eric hasn't meant to start crying, but now that he's started, he can't seem to stop. Jack chuckles softly, even though he's kind of ruining his shirt, right now, and holds on.

"Daddy?" Elli says, his small fist tightening in Eric's jeans. "Why are you sad?"

Blindly, he reaches for the top of Elli's head and ruffles his hair. "I'm not sad, baby," he mumbles, against Jack's chest. "I'm really, _really_ tired. And happy. But tired."

"You did great," Jack whispers to him. "You're amazing."

He takes another moment to breathe in, and out, in the comfort and safety of Jack's arms. Then: "Jack? I think Lardo broke my hand."

*

"Lards," Jack breathes out, the moment he sees her, propped up in bed, the baby against her chest.

He hurries around the bed, Elli after him, while Eric sits down on the chair in the corner of the room so the nurse can take a look at his hand. "It's just bruised, but I'll bandage it real quick," she says, with a wink. "It's not the first time this has happened during delivery," she adds.

Bless her. "Thank you so much."

He lets her do the work while his gaze settles on Jack and Elli, standing by the bed. Lardo looks exhausted — lord, he was the one crying and he didn't even push out a baby out of his body — but radiant, after nine hours of labor. It could have been a lot more, which Eric is grateful for, except that Shitty missed it all — they finally got him on the phone as they were arriving at the hospital, which made Lardo's heart-rate lower exponentially as Shitty stayed with her at the other end of the line until he had to get on the plane. He took the first flight available, arriving in Boston, and Ransom and Holster are driving him from there.

"Hey, little one," Jack whispers as he leans in to get a good look at Jaime without disturbing the little devil. Her cry was loud enough to wake everyone up for miles around, and that was when she had only a single breath in her lungs.

"Jaime," Lardo says, "meet Uncle Jack. Jack — this is Jaime."

Now it's Jack's turn to get teary, like he can't quite believe what's happening. Like he can't quite believe he's getting to be an uncle when he grew up without many friends, when his anxiety is getting the better of him and convincing him the people around him don't care _that_ much about him. It's not something Jack ever told him, but Eric knows.

That little girl is about to be spoiled for the rest of her life.

"Hello, Jaime," Jack corrects. "You did this," he says, amazed, and plants a sweet kiss on Lardo's cheek, making her chuckle.

"Lemme see!" Elli squeals. "Lemme see!"

"Not too loud, sweetie," Eric says, from his seat, "or you'll wake her up."

"C'mere," Jack says and lifts Elli until he can sit on the bed, and Lardo angles Jaime so that he can take a good look at her.

"Done!" the nurse tells Eric, as she cuts the last of the bandage around his wrist.

He thanks her again, but she's already hurrying to the next point on her busy schedule. He stands up and joins Jack by the bed.

"Can I touch?" Elli asks, uncertain.

"Yeah, of course," Lardo says, with a smile. "You can touch her on her back."

"Gently, Elliot," Eric advises. "Be very gentle."

"Helloooo," Elli whispers to Jaime, his fingers hovering over her back as if he's worried he’ll break her. "You're very pink. Also, Jack buyed a gift for you and he said I could give it so here's a bunny 'cause bunnies are important and yours is brown like S'nor Bun and mine is white 'cause I already have S'nor Bun and Jack said I could choose a teddy too 'cause I waited for hours and hours and I wanted one like yours."

Eric's about to lose it again — lord, he really needs some sleep — when Jaime wiggles a bit, and sneezes. It's a loud noise that makes the three of them chuckle, but Elli raises his hands towards Eric, panicked.

"It's okay, baby," he says, collecting him in his arms. "She just sneezed."

It was also, perhaps, the cutest thing he's ever witnessed. After Elli, of course.

Beside him, Jack reaches for his camera, taking it out of the case resting against his hip. "Can I?" he asks Lardo.

"Please do," Lardo chuckles. "I'm pretty sure my parents will kill me if you don't. You better make me look in my best light, Zimmermann."

"Hush, you, as if you aren't always," Eric says, and she grins at him.

Jack takes a few shots of Lardo and Jaime and then makes Eric and Elli pose with them until Eric seizes the camera and configures its settings to include Jack as well.

Handing the camera back to Jack, Eric's about to ask Elli if he's happy to have a little cousin so close, now, since Chowder's kids are so far away, but a racket of noise coming from the hallway stops him:

"—CHILD, LET ME SEE MY CHILD."

"Oh, lord."

He and Jack jump away from the bed as Shitty swings the door open, Ransom and Holster in tow, in a small tornado of coats, scarves, and hats.

Eric lets Elli down, who rushes for his two uncles, hugging their legs. Eric watches him from the corner of his eyes but his attention is wholly on Shitty, who nearly collapses on the bed, reaching for Lardo as he weaves his arms around her shoulders. For a few moments, they whisper to each other back and forth, a conversation Eric doesn't catch, but witnessing the look on Lardo's face, she seems very far from wanting to murder Shitty after all.

"Let me see her," he says, and ever so gently picks up Jaime, cradling her back and head, and raises her for them to be face-to-face.

She doesn't appreciate the disturbance much, and after getting a good look at Shitty's face, lets out a wail that's loud enough to wake the dead.

"Holy—" Ransom breathes out.

Shitty's grin is the brightest thing in the world. "That's my girl. Wait until you hear about the motherfucking patriarchy."

Holster gasps, throwing both hands over Elli's ears, who tries to shove him off, laughing. Eric's not even sure how Shitty does it, working with kids and all, but he hasn't been fired yet, so there's that. And, well, kids love him.

Shitty doesn't spare them a glance, though: his eyes are on Jaime, glistening with a special light Eric knows too well.

"Is that the look?" Jack whispers to his ear, stepping closer to him.

Eric grins. "It is."

He would recognize it anywhere: Shitty's falling in love with his little girl.

With a slight sigh, he leans his head against Jack, and Jack passes an arm around his waist.

" _Bro_ ," Ransom says, gaping at them.

Holster turns his attention to them, and it's comical how the face he makes mimics Ransom's. "What the— oh my god."

Jack chuckles and presses his lips to the top of Eric's head. Knowing him, he's probably glaring a bit at Ransom and Holster. Goodness. Children.

"Daddy and Jack are boyfriends!" Elli says, because, of course, it needs saying. Eric feels his cheeks heat.

"Since _when_?" Ransom asks.

"Uh, about a week," Jack replies.

Holster still can't seem to believe it. "What happened to _We're just friends, I'm not hot for Jack, and Jack's definitely not hot for me_?"

"Hot?" Elli asks, just as Jack says, with a frown, "When did you say that?"

"Ugh, hush up, Adam Birkholtz."

Shitty chuckles knowingly as he hands Jaime back to Lardo.

"You _knew_?" Holster groans. "Since when?"

"About the day it happened," Lardo says. "Oh, don't get all bothered on me, Holster, I just pushed a human being out of my vagina."

Elli whips his head towards her. "Vagina?"

Holster's about to respond when the nurse enters the room, silencing them at once. Eric always forgets, but as a group of people, they're kind of loud.

"If she's awake now," the nurse says, "we should try feeding. It's the last requirement before you're cleared. She's a big girl, for 37 weeks."

From the doctor's earlier explanations, Jaime has all the signs of a slightly premature baby at 38 weeks, not 37 or 36. No time in the NICU, which was confirmed earlier, to Lardo's evident relief. Eric doesn't wish that on anybody.

Lardo sits up a bit more as she tugs her gown down, settling Jaime against her breast as the nurse helps her figure out that first meal. Shitty's eyes still haven't left the two of them.

"Daddy, what's vagina?" Elli says, breaking the silence in the room.

Eric chuckles a bit and picks him up, the white plushie dangling from Elli's hand. "I'll tell you at home, sweetheart."

It's not like he can avoid these questions forever, but he'd rather have that discussion one-on-one.

Conversation starts as Lardo nurses Jaime: Ransom asks Jack about the season and Holster inquires about his injury. He groans in sympathy when Jack tells them he won't be able to make the playoffs, and the discussion diverges to the Sharks' season and Chowder's last few amazing performances in the goals. Eric stands there, staring at the wall, mentally asleep, Jack's constant and comforting weight against him helping him stay on his feet.

"Daddy?" Elli asks as he tugs on the collar of his (probably smelly, at this point) shirt. "She is so small. I wasn't small like that."

Lardo and Shitty look up, smiles on their faces, remembering as well.

"You were, sweetheart," Eric says, his smile shaky. "You were even smaller than her."

So, _so_ small. Lord, it still hurts a bit. Jack's hold on him gets a bit tighter, as his conversation with Ransom and Holster comes to a halt.

"What's she doing?" Elli asks, eyes on Jaime, as she has just figured out how to suckle.

"She's eating. You shouldn't stare like that, sweetie, it's not very polite."

There's nothing wrong with it, and Eric wouldn't want Elli to think that, but consent lessons are an everyday work in progress.

"I don't mind, Bits," she says, with a slight smile, before she turns her attention back on Jaime.

"So can I look now?" Elli asks.

"Yes, since your aunt said it's okay."

Elli spends the next minutes enthralled by the breastfeeding process, until he lifts his head, and asks, "Daddy, how did I eat when I was a baby? You don't have those."

"Ah, no, the one thing I lack as a parent, I guess," he says, and everyone in the room laughs along. "I gave you milk in a bottle instead," he explains, and Elli nods.

They lapse into another silence, as Jaime slowly finishes her meal and falls asleep on the same spot, her face pressed against Lardo's collarbone in a way that makes Eric want to pick her up and kiss her ridiculously cute, round cheeks. He knows he's overworked but dang, he can't wait to babysit her and Elli together. He misses it, from time to time, the feeling of having a tiny, chubby baby in his arms.

As if on a common accord, they all have gathered around the bed, watching the way Jaime snuggles against her mother. Going by the way Shitty's shoulders are shaking, Eric's pretty sure he's crying.

"So," Holster says, after a while. "We've made it, I guess."

"Made it?" Jack asks.

"Yeah." Holster nods, gravely. "Being adults and all."

Holster and Ransom exchange one of those meaningful looks that Eric has long given up on decoding, so he turns his attention to Elli, who fusses a bit in his arms. He shifts to keep his bandaged hand out of the way, and that's the only reason he doesn't see it first, no matter how many times Lardo and he are going to argue about it in the future. Honestly. For a half-a-second delay. Technically, he had a child in his arms. Technically, Lardo will say she did too.

She looks up, chuckling at Holster's words, and her eyes narrow. " _Bro_. _Seriously?_ "

Eric glances at them and nearly drops Elli in the process. They're holding hands.

"Uh, yeah," Ransom says, sheepish.

"Shut your mouth, Ransom!" Eric gasps.

"Daddy!"

Shitty smirks at them, knowingly. "So Bitty and Jack aren't the only two who… _unstuck their heads from their butts_ , this week."

"Uncle Shitty! Butts!"

"Technically, we have seniority," Ransom says.

"Butt seniority," Holster adds with a grin, and he and Ransom bump fists.

Eric gapes at them. 

"Okay," Lardo groans. "I don’t need that mental image now, thank you."

And there’s also a child present, sweet Jesus. 

"Wow," Jack says. "Since when?"

Holster shrugs. "There's no date, really."

Goodness, sure, they've kind of always been a unit, but there must have been a _moment_ , right? Unless they're fully acknowledging that queerplatonic thing Shitty was talking about that other time — frankly, Eric is way too tired to dig for deets right now.

"We figured that since neither of us has settled down with anyone else…" Ransom shrugs. "We could make it work for good, yanno?"

Eric's eyes widen. Okay, he's going to sit down these two behind a pie someday and make them tell him everything.

Holster nudges Ransom with his shoulder, gently. "We meant to say something earlier, but…"

"In your own time, bruh," Shitty says, chin high, clearly satisfied, "in your own time."

Elli, clearly unfazed by that turn of events as he still watches Jaime, tugs on Eric's collar again. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanna little sister."

"Oh, lord," he groans. "Here we go."

At that, everyone laughs heartily — well, maybe apart from one person, whose chuckle sounds just a bit strangled.

*

Ransom and Holster leave soon after — they've got an important meeting in the afternoon to get back to. Saying their goodbyes, they spend a few minutes discussing something with Jack in the corner of the hallway, before exchanging bro-y hugs. Eric watches from a distance while keeping an eye on Elli, asleep on one of the plastic chairs, using the white stuffed bun (Señor Blanco) as a pillow.

Shitty emerges from the room, spares a glance at Ransom, Holster, and Jack, and quirks an eyebrow.

"I hope they're not giving him the break his heart talk," Eric says, but it does look like it. Ugh, those boys.

Shitty chuckles. "They've been beaten by Lards by a long mile, there."

"Aw, no." He shakes his head. "Come on, we're not in college anymore."

"Nah," Shitty says, eyes on Jack's back. "He's gonna do good by you. Kid's come a long way since then."

"You already talk like the old dad you are," Eric laughs.

Shitty's grin melts into something softer. "Bits, I…" Before he knows it, Eric's being engulfed into one of the biggest, warmest hugs he's ever received. "I'm so fucking glad you quit figure skating for hockey."

"Shitty Knight, you're gonna make me cry."

"Seriously, bro," Shitty says, easing his hold on him. "I don't know what we would have done without you, last night. We can't thank you enough. You were there, when I—"

"Don't you start, mister. You were doing your job."

"That's what all crappy fathers say," Shitty whispers, and for the first time, Eric recognizes the worry and fear in his voice. "I wasn't there when my daughter was _born_ , goddamnit."

"Listen to me, Shitty Knight," he says, getting a hold of Shitty's shoulders. "The fact that you are worried about this is the very reason that's going to make you a great dad. You _care_ , and she'll love you for it."

Shitty's reply is another, more desperate hug, the kind that makes Eric's toes rise from the ground, and lets him down as Jack joins them a moment later.

"Look at you, _Dad_ ," Jack says, punching Shitty's shoulder.

"Oh my god," Shitty breathes out. " _I'm a dad_."

"Yeah," Elli says, as he wakes up and blinks, clearly not understanding why that fact needs stating again, and in such a loud way.

"I'm a dad!" Shitty repeats, sounding even more shocked. He jumps, once, twice, hands in the air, making them laugh, until he seizes Eric's face and plants a kiss on his lips, just to do the same to Jack a second later. "I'M A DAD!"

"Okay, Shits," Jack says, amused.

He tries to get his hands on Shitty to calm him down, but that only spurs a bit of roughhousing that Eric remembers too well from their Samwell days.

"Lord, behave yourselves, boys," he warns them.

Shitty tries to get Jack into a headlock and they nearly crash into with a nurse pushing a cart, which calms them down a notch.

"Tell me," Shitty says, panting, with one last shove at Jack's shoulder. "We talked about it with Lardo, and thought we had a bit more time to ask before Jaime came along, but… You two, godfathers?"

"Goodness gracious, Shitty," Eric gasps, "of course!"

Jack blinks at him like he can't quite believe it. Eric squeezes the back of his arm, gently. "I— seriously?"

"Seriously," Shitty assures him. "Come on, you're my _brother_."

There's another round of hugs, even higher in emotions than the first, at least on Jack's part. Bless him, his shock is still palpable until they get to the car, where Jack gets into his usual captain mode and straps Elli in, and invites Eric to take a nap while he drives them home.

Elli, in turn, has another idea. "Daddy?"

"Hmmmm?"

It’s not like he’ll get a break until this afternoon though; Jack had promised to take Elli to the park so Eric can nap in peace. 

"Godparents is like uncle and aunt, right?"

"It is, a bit."

"So you are Uncle Daddy to baby Jaime now but that also means that you are still my Daddy?"

"Yes. I'm an uncle for Jaime like Shitty is your uncle, but still Jaime's dad."

"This is very _complitated_."

"Hmmm."

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Is Uncle Shitty in love with you?"

"Oh, sweetheart, not that again."

"And Jack?" Elli asks.

Eric frowns. That's new.

"It's 'cos he kissed you on the mouth! And Jack, too!"

He smiles, closing his eyes. "He's not in love with us, baby, it's just your uncle being silly and happy."

"Oh, okay."

"Hey," Jack says. "Maybe we should play a game?"

"Yeah! What game?"

"It's called King of Silence. First one to speak loses."

"Okaaay — oh no, I lost!"

"We can start over. Go."

"O— oh."

Thank ~~God~~ Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't tag the Holsom thing because I was going to keep it ambiguous until Holster and Ransom told me in this chapter, as I was writing them, that they just really wanted to hold hands and be together. And I allowed it with great magnanimity. They deserve their fun as well. :D
> 
> Also, we're not Friday, but last update was a week ago and I felt bad leaving you all on a cliffhanger hahaha. This means there's not going to be a chapter this Friday, and I'll take this as an opportunity to get back on schedule and update on next Friday instead, since next chapter needs a bit of reworking and I'm currently quite busy managing postgrad + a conference I'm giving soon. 
> 
> I'd also like to welcome all the new readers because ibakesouffles on tumblr did the most beautiful 3-PAGES COMIC of the end of chapter 8. If you haven't seen it yet, [click here](https://ibakesouffles.tumblr.com/post/644765937296408576/because-im-a-little-obsessed-with), like, reblog, and go follow her for more of her amazing Check Please art. Seriously, this is wonderful.  
> Since I'm thanking people (I swear this is not the end of the fic, haha), I'd like to reiterate my eternal gratitude for [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious/pseuds/nautilicious) who's there to correct all the silly mistakes my québécois brain leaves behind. She's written some great fic, so definitely go check it out!
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for the lovely, lovely comments you're leaving and I promise I'll get to reply to them all, it might just take a bit of time! <333

**Author's Note:**

> I'm weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (well, more about Check Please these days!) on tumblr, but mostly present on twitter @wntt_aboutSH!


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